The Catch in the Contradiction
by Covalent Bond
Summary: It's simple, really. Booth says things, then he reverses himself or forgets what he's said. Brennan catches him and naturally brings it up. However, he's not the only one who contradicts himself. So, here begins a series of one-shots where someone gets caught. ;) Rating is M for adult themes and discussions, including sexuality.
1. Platonic

The Premise: It's simple, really. Booth says things, then he reverses himself or forgets what he's said. Brennan catches him and naturally brings it up. It started when I was mining some unpublished one-shots and episode tags I've got laying around, and I realized I could link some of them thematically. So, here begins a series of one-shots where someone gets caught. ;)

These will vary from steamy to fluffy, angsty to funny, depending my mood and the topic. Some of them may veer into AU territory, though I will maintain characterization. I'm rating this series an M because some individual chapters will go there but each chapter is individually rated for content. The current chapter is a hard T for sexuality.

Episode tag to The Man in the Outhouse

* * *

_The Catch in the Contradiction_

**First Catch: Platonic**

~Q~

Booth strode in confidently, snagging a barstool right next to his partner's table. "Hey, Bones."

Brennan had been smiling at something her companion was saying, but her smile dissolved into shock and confusion when Booth caught her attention. Seeing Sweets shuffling in behind, Brennan's jaw fell open as she struggled to figure out what her partner was up to.

Wearing an amused and knowing grin, Booth turned and introduced himself to Brennan's date, immediately staking the boundaries of his territory with a seemingly friendly greeting. "Hi. Special Agent Booth, her partner."

"Hi," the man answered, his uncertainty evident.

"I'm Dr. Lance Sweets. I'm their therapist," Sweets offered. He sounded almost dazed, realizing that he'd unwittingly allowed Booth to drag him into the most intriguing interplay between the partners he was ever likely to see. Booth had mentioned she had a date when explaining their argument by the elevators earlier that afternoon. The tension was throbbing between them, her eyes flashing dangerously and Booth's smirk firmly in place. She had left, Booth had shrugged off her date as unimportant, and now here they were.

"Jason DeFry," the man sitting across from Brennan offered.

Brennan was dressed simply, but elegantly, in a black cocktail dress and sleek blazer. Her hair was smooth and flowed loosely over her shoulders. Wearing heavier makeup than usual, her eyes sparkled under just enough smoky grey eye-shadow to emphasize their remarkable color. Her lips shone smoothly pink, glistening just a little in the diner's overhead lights. She was lovely in her typically understated way.

Her companion didn't seem to dwell on her face and neither did Booth, but Sweets found himself surreptitiously admiring her while Booth launched into a brotherly interrogation.

"DeFry," Booth repeated, as if taking notes for later follow-up. Sweets had no doubt this name would be plugged into the NCIC database within the next 12 hours.

Jason regarded Sweets curiously. "Do you … follow them around all the time?"

"No," Sweets chuckled, torn between embarrassment and lingering gratitude that he was about to witness some spectacular fireworks. "No, no, I'm also a profiler. I help with their cases."

Jason's eyes rested on Brennan, awkwardly. She offered a sheepish grin, as if to beg his understanding that she had no control over wayward coworkers.

Sweets leaned toward Booth, whispering. "Did you know she was on a date?"

"Slipped my mind," Booth lied, the words falling glibly out of the corner of his mouth.

Sweets regarded Booth speculatively, knowing full well this was entirely intentional. They were here to stop Brennan's date in its tracks, of that Sweets had no doubt. The only question was why, exactly. And how much was Brennan going to figure out by the evening's end.

The FBI agent's amused eyes never left Jason's face. "Spiffy suit, man."

"Thanks," Jason beamed. "Picked it up in Italy." He rocked a bit jauntily from side to side.

"It's a little tight," Booth observed. He looked at Jason, but the comment seemed aimed at the woman seething silently nearby.

"That's the style," Jason replied.

"Ever been married?"

Brennan's eyes flashed a warning at her partner. He appeared not to notice.

"No," Jason answered good-naturedly.

"Have a kid?" Booth shot back.

"Never been married, remember?" Jason chuckled, finally betraying a hint of nervousness.

Brennan's jaw clenched.

"I have a kid." Booth's gaze was open, sincere, but the mockery was bubbling just underneath. Jason had unwittingly ended the duel, his only shot going wide and missing the target completely with that faux pas.

"He's never been married," Sweets offered quietly, alerting the man to the insult that he'd unknowingly cast and the victory it had given his rival.

Booth shook his head in an exaggerated 'no,' going on the offensive with the almost comical gesture. And in that moment, Sweets realized he had aligned himself with Booth, against Jason. Maybe against Brennan as well judging by the way her jaw muscles tightened and her brow furrowed. Somehow Booth had pitted himself against Jason and brilliantly arranged to end up the 'victim' while victimizing a man whose only crime was to be on a date with the object of Booth's interest. The tension thickened, pulling taut between the three contenders. Sweets could only watch in amazement as Dr. Brennan was forced to choose which man to defend.

The only one who may have harbored any doubt as to which man she would pick soon found himself dismissed with as much tact as she could manage. "I should get to work, Jason. We've got a murderer to catch. You understand?"

"Yeah, of course. Of course." He stood, sensing the awkwardness was only going to get worse. "It's getting late anyway."

As Jason stood, Booth's gaze took in his expertly tailored suit. The smirk he sent towards Sweets registered with Brennan, who shot him a warning glare.

Jason looked down at Brennan, oblivious to her partner's scathing disapproval. "Listen. I have Coldplay tickets for tomorrow night. I thought maybe we'd grab a bite first…?"

She smiled, revealing white teeth and the consolation of acceptance. "Absolutely. I might have to leave from work."

"No problem," Jason smiled. "I'll meet you at your office, at six?"

"I'll be there," Brennan promised. She stood, accepting a pair of side-cheek-kisses from Jason.

"Nice meeting you all," Jason muttered insincerely as he started toward the door.

Booth waited only a moment before leaning toward his partner and whispering gleefully, "No wonder you two are platonic!"

Brennan's brows shot up in confusion. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, look, I'm fine with it, Bones," he chuckled as he stole Jason's vacated seat. "I have zero problems with it."

As Booth moved into her date's place, Brennan's jaw clenched again in undisguised anger, her eyes turning molten silver as she glared at him openly at last. She understood precisely what was happening.

But Booth distracted her almost immediately. Leaning even closer, he crowed in a stage whisper, "That guy is gay!"

"He is not gay," she declared, but her gaze flickered to Sweets as if seeking his support.

"Please," Booth scoffed. "Double-cheek kiss, tight Italian suit…."

"Coldplay," Sweets interjected.

Brennan glared at the psychologist, clearly recognizing whose side he was on. Booth pulled her attention back. "Never been married…."

"Coldplay," Sweet repeated meaningfully.

"Jason is as heterosexual as either of you," she insisted.

Booth leaned over the table, stabbing her with the pivotal question. "Then how is it that he's okay with not having sex?"

Sweets found himself leaning in, fascinated. "What?"

Brennan shook her head, denying the accusation even as a part of her realized she shouldn't care what Booth thought of Jason. "We share an intellectual bond. I don't have physical feelings for him. He understands that."

Booth smirked. "Not if he's straight. Right?" He glanced to Sweets, seeking back up. "Am I right?"

Sweets found himself nodding. Absolutely no man in his right mind would be satisfied being platonic with the beautiful woman Booth was carefully cornering. And that undoubtedly included Booth himself, Sweets realized in a flash. Suddenly it was all falling into place, just what was happening here. Before he could censor himself, Sweets blurted his agreement. "You _are_ hot."

Brennan's face froze in shock, then a near-blush colored her cheeks. Considering how difficult it was to embarrass the anthropologist, that was saying something.

As for Booth, his gaze hardened, as if he were seeing Sweets as a threat for the first time. The warning glare he sent to the psychologist was unmistakable. Don't comment on her appearance ever again. Don't even think about it. Don't even look.

"You're here for a reason?" Brennan looked desperate to change the subject.

The reason was simply to point out they'd discovered a viable suspect in their current murder investigation. Really, it was nothing much. Her eyes took in both men, her partner and his accomplice, and she nodded confirmation to herself. "This couldn't have waited until after I said good night to Jason…?"

Booth held out his hands in a peace offering. "I'm just looking out for you, all right? You don't have the, uh, best taste in men…."

She stiffened. Her smile collapsed once again into an outraged glare that threatened to slice large chunks out of Booth's hide later. As for Booth, he didn't look nearly as frightened as he should. Brennan stood up, sweeping up her coat and handbag and heading for the cash register. She had money out and slapped down with a call to Vera and turned to glare imperiously at her partner. Booth leaned back in his seat, laughing.

Brennan's furious command reached him from across the Diner. "Since you chased off my ride, you're driving me home, Booth."

"Dude. She is going to kill you," Sweets cautioned.

"No she won't." Booth answered confidently. But he knew better than to keep her waiting.

~Q~

She waited until he got into the car before giving him the most speculative stare he'd ever received. Her head tilted, lower lip wedged between her teeth, Brennan was thinking. Warily, Booth waited for her to pounce. Maybe he should have listened to Sweets because suddenly his partner was looking like she might slay him after all.

"So tell me, Booth," she finally began. And it was not at all what he'd expected. "Are you gay?"

"What?!" He drew back, floundering in astonishment. "No! Why would you ask me that?"

Oh, God, the glint in her eyes was terrifying. _Never try to trick a genius,_ he reminded himself. She had him cornered, he could tell by the way her lips pulled into a feral smile. He didn't even know how she'd done it, where he'd slipped, but he had. She smelled victory and was moving in for the kill.

"Really. Then how is it that you're satisfied with not having sex?"

His mouth dropped open, thunderstruck. He could feel the burn of mortal embarrassment (or terminal desire) roaring over his face, pinkening his ears and drying out his mouth as she watched. Patient, Brennan was patient. Her eyes held his, her smile growing wider when he remained mute and scrambling for a foothold in the scalding hot space she'd left him in. She pulled the rug all the way out from under his stumbling feet with her next question.

"Do you want to have sex with me?"

The flames licked over him, consuming and roasting his flesh like a sacrificial lamb. If he said no, it would be a lie. She would be hurt or worse, accuse him of being gay—and she'd probably broadcast it across the Hoover. If he said yes …. He couldn't say yes: that would be admitting he'd spent the last three years lusting after her. Burning for her. He didn't say anything, the heat of the fire she'd started robbed him of breath anyway.

She leaned in, closing the distance. Her perfume swirled around his head, sending his senses reeling, and her honey-thickened voice sent electric shocks through every nerve in his body. "It's first-order logic. You said a straight man would never be satisfied in a non-sexual relationship with a woman, or more specifically with me. So tell me, are you gay? Or do you want me?"

Brennan lightly bit her lower lip, locking her frost-bitten eyes with his. "Why did you break up my date? It's not fair, Booth. You don't want any other men to have me, but you won't make a move. If you're not gay…."

Her hand swept over his chest and arm almost possessively, causing him to bite back a groan, but it was the trace of her fingertips skating over his leg that finally did him in. They tingled along the inside of his thigh, brushing so close to him that he nearly exploded from anticipation. And then they actually did touch him, scraping up the length of him and the blissful sensation crashed between his thighs.

"….Then you must want me," she breathed into his ear, nipping his lobe lightly with her teeth.

"God, yes! I want you," he gasped, unable to hold it in because the evidence was swelling under her hand. Of course he did. Today, yesterday, every day and twice on Sunday.

"Good."

Her hand withdrew and returned to a prim location on her lap. She sat back, fully composed and eyes facing forward.

Abandoned, shaking, Booth struggled to comprehend what had just happened. "What…?"

"What are you waiting for? Aren't you taking me to my apartment?" she asked, as casually as if the previous five minutes had not happened.

"Bones?"

"Yes, Booth?" She turned her head back to him with a quirked brow of inquiry.

Her guileless gaze floored him. He shook his head, starting to think he'd hallucinated the entire exchange. "Never mind," he muttered.

"Just so you know, it's not a fact until you provide evidence to confirm it," she informed him.

He started the car, but froze in shock as her calmly uttered statement registered. "What?" _What isn't a fact?_

"I need proof," she smirked, "that you aren't gay."

~Q~

* * *

The updates on this will be further spread out because there are no cliff-hangers here.

Meanwhile, I'm going to ask for feedback on this because I'm very uncomfortable with writing M material. Let me know what you like, what you don't like, and what you'd like to see more of. (Aside from smut, which I'm gradually working my way into. Stay tuned.)

And finally, dear readers, I know some of you must have caught contradictions. Not just Booth, but Brennan or any character is fair game. I've got a total of nine in mind but I'm very open to suggestions. :)


	2. Guy Hugs

Author's Observation: Wow, you readers are amazing! You know by now that I have a scientific mind. I watch, I observe, and I draw conclusions. What I conclude from the reception this piece has gotten so far, is that ya'll love the promise of puerile pleasures. Well, as promised previously, I'm working up to it. Anticipation is half the experience, though, and like Booth, I don't give it up on the first date (or the second). But if we keep going on together, eventually something's going to happen. ;)

Author's Promise: A couple of you asked if Brennan would get her 'proof.' These are one shots that are all about catching someone with inconsistent behavior and Brennan might find herself caught in a future chapter. Let's just say Booth has some 'catching' of his own to do and evidence will be provided in due time, but first the poor guy needs some time to collect himself.

The Premise: Ever notice how desperately Booth avoids any attempt from Hodgins or Sweets when they actually do try to exchange 'guy hugs?' Yeah. We're onto you, Booth. This piece is sweeter and much more romantic than the previous (or next) installment of this series. Essentially, I changed one single detail about the 'canon' portions of this scene and that one tiny change leads to much larger revelations. See if you can spot it.

The current chapter is a soft M for sexuality.

Episode tag for Glowing Bones in the Old Stone House.

* * *

_The Catch in the Contradiction_

**Second Catch: Guy Hugs**

~Q~

Be there at eight, she'd said, and he was always punctual because the Army didn't do tardy. (Neither did Temperance Brennan, for that matter.) The man paused a moment to check his surroundings before he lifted a hand and rapped his knuckles sharply on the pecan portal.

When his partner opened the door, the heavenly scent of melted cheese reached over the threshold and pulled Seeley Booth into the room. He imagined the trailing fingers of a feminine hand tickling his nose and drawing him forward, a personified wisp of fragrant bliss. He grinned at his partner. "What is that amazing smell?"

"I made macaroni and cheese," she answered. "I'm just about to take it out of the oven."

He followed her into the dining area and was greeted with a table already set, twin candles burning, a freshly poured and chilled beer pressed into his hand, and a chair pulled out for him. Brennan made herself busy throwing a salad together while he sat and watched. A few minutes later, she was pulling two single-serving casserole dishes out of the oven.

"You know, you should let me help," he remarked, suddenly feeling a little bit guilty over the work she'd clearly gone to.

Brennan's reply was immediate and brusque. "No." Then she grinned impishly. "Cleaning up. You can do that."

She carried the two small casserole dishes to the table took her seat beside him.

"Great," he muttered, not quite thrilled with the idea of cleaning despite the guilt of having his fiercely feminist partner serving him. But the sight and smell of the food in front of him magically erased any discontent he was feeling. "Wow. Mac and cheese. Bones, this looks fantastic!"

"Yeah? Really?" He'd never seen Brennan so uncertain before. She looked happy but also a little bit shy. Wearing a hopeful smile, she placed the napkin in her lap and waited for him to begin.

Booth glanced over the table, taking in all the food she'd made. "You shouldn't have. All this work, just for me?"

"What? No." She blushed lightly. "I mean, it wasn't that much."

Taking a forkful of the steaming, golden, oozing noodles, Booth lifted it to his nose. The rich, gooey scent of melted cheddar and gruyere cheeses danced into his senses and straight to his heart. They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach: well, he hadn't even tasted it yet and already he was in love. Taking that first bite, he savored it, let it melt warmly over his tongue.

The cheeses were hot, sweet and tangy, with a nip of spice and a slightly sour bite of gruyere. Ecstasy flooded his mouth, his senses. God, this was incredible, nearly orgasmic. Almost reluctantly, he ended the first taste with a slow chewing and swallow, relishing the entire experience. He was breathless. His stunned eyes lifted to the woman who had prepared it.

Unbelievably, Brennan looked hesitant. Uncertain. Waiting for his verdict as he nearly writhed in her gastronomic paradise.

He knew she was waiting to hear what he thought. "This is unbelievable."

Another shy smile. "Do you like it?"

"Like it? I want to be alone with it!"

She laughed and a soft blush warmed her cheeks. Her eyes fell to the table. "Carly said I could go with my instincts. So I put in a little fresh-ground nutmeg."

"Well, she taught you well," he assured her. "Thanks, Bones."

She shrugged, avoiding his gaze, but he could tell she was pleased to have pleased him. "We have to eat, right?"

"Right. We always gotta eat." Booth dove into his next bite, his mind spinning with the import of actions over words.

Sure, they had to eat. They ate together with near daily frequency—the Diner, pizza, Thai, Chinese, sometimes Indian, sometimes Mexican. Mornings with coffee and pastries. But never, in the two years they'd worked together, had she cooked for him. He'd never known she could and certainly never thought she would do something this … domestic.

Gazing at her thoughtfully, Booth watched her sample her efforts and noted that she didn't enjoy it nearly as much as he did. Brennan stuck mostly to the beans and greens, as usual. He knew she generally stayed away from heavy, savory foods like noodles and cheese and yet, she'd prepared this especially for him. This means something, his instincts warned him.

The macaroni and cheese was the centerpiece, but she'd included green beans, a tossed salad and home-baked sourdough bread. She'd served him his favorite beer. She'd lowered the lights and lit candles. She had her hair down, tumbling loosely over a lovely red peasant blouse that complimented the warm brown waves of her hair and sparkling crystal of her eyes. This was more than a meal, much more than a simple meal between friends. It felt like a date.

He met her eyes, felt again that certainty that something was shifting between them. Brennan was uncharacteristically reticent tonight, averting her gaze and concentrating on her food much more intensely than usual. He wasn't sure what it meant, but decided he should finish the meal while it was hot.

Plunging back into the melting cheese dish, Booth contented himself with enjoying her culinary masterpiece. She gradually relaxed, laughing with him over shared jokes and the ease of a deep friendship forged over years of shared experiences and stolen fries. All too soon the meal had ended and they lingered at the table. He finished off a second beer and she sipped at a second glass of red wine.

When they finally began clearing the table, Brennan tried to tell him she didn't need help cleaning up after all. A brief skirmish found him wrestling a dish cloth out of her hands and pushing her out of the kitchen while she laughingly resisted. "At least let me put the dishes into the dishwasher. Booth!"

"Bones!" He mocked. "This is not one of your crime scenes."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You turn into a raging harpy when the FBI techs don't collect your evidence 'just so.'"

"Collecting evidence from a grave has to be done properly or I lose the context. Context is everything."

"There's no context to loading a dishwasher."

She smirked and darted past him to stand guard over her dishwasher. "You haven't seen anything until you've seen me react to an improperly loaded dishwasher."

"It doesn't matter how the dishes go in. The water swishes around everything in there. That's the … _swishing_ sound … that you hear when it's running." He tapped her nose playfully.

Folding her arms, Brennan declared primly, "There is a right way and a wrong way to load a dishwasher."

"Of course there is," he chuckled. "Fine. You can stand there and direct me since I know how much you love to boss me around."

Brennan shoved him roughly enough that he laughed and nearly lost his balance. She sputtered, "I am not bossy!"

"Oh, you're bossy _and_ violent." His waggling brows took the sting out of his words.

"I'm not bossy," she repeated stubbornly. "I just have high standards."

He teased, "So you agree that you are violent?"

"Want to find out how violent I can be?" she threatened, twisting her hand into his t-shirt and pulling herself closer.

"Careful," he warned. "I bruise easily."

With an amused snort, she pushed him back. "Pansy."

Booth burst out laughing. "Pansy! Where did you hear that?"

"What." She frowned. "I said that right. Someone who's weak."

"No, you got it right. I just never expected to hear that from you." Booth had taken the first dish and started rinsing.

"Read it in a book somewhere." Brennan glided out of the kitchen to retrieve the serving dishes still on the dining table. He snapped her on the backside with the dish cloth as she passed.

The scent of sweet wax drifted into the kitchen moments after Brennan blew out the candles. Booth considered the oddly domestic scene he was participating in: a home-cooked meal, playful banter, cleaning the kitchen. It should be like this every night. If he was honest with himself, this was exactly how he did want to spend every evening, and she was who he wanted to spend those evenings with.

He watched his partner efficiently wiping down the table while he rinsed the last of the dishes. As often as he told himself they weren't compatible and there was no way a relationship between them could work, moments like these proved him a liar. There was no one he got along better with, no one who knew him as well as she did (she'd surpassed even Cam by this point), no one he enjoyed spending time with more. He set the last dish into the dishwasher and straightened with a start as the realization hit him. She was the only one he wanted to be with.

He remembered the teasing words hurled his way by Special Agent Tim Sullivan a few months ago, words he'd vehemently denied. _"Do you want her? … You do! You have the hots for your partner!"_ Booth had insisted that wasn't the case, all but standing aside to let Sully try to win Temperance Brennan's heart. Then Booth had suffered the unbearable torment of seeing Brennan kiss Sully, seeing Sully's hands on her, seeing her happy with someone else. While Booth had hesitated, telling Brennan people who worked together couldn't be romantically involved, Sully moved right in and claimed her.

Those had been some of the worst months of his life.

Yeah, all right, Sully was right. He did want her. What sane, straight male wouldn't? She was beautiful, intelligent, honest, fiercely courageous. There were moments when she was sexy as a soldier's dream, yet she could be as innocent as a child. Under that hard, prickly shell he'd discovered his partner had a warm, generous heart. He kept telling himself they were too different, but in moments of absolute clarity he knew he'd fallen in love with her somewhere in the first few days of knowing her.

He'd just never known how she felt, if the feelings he held so closely guarded were reciprocated. All this time, Booth had been certain it was one-sided, but tonight was calling it all into question.

Brennan had returned to the kitchen and began putting the leftover beans and salad away. Booth took the serving bowls she handed him and watched her out of the corner of his eye. What was he supposed to think about this evening? Remembering their conversation in the car earlier that day, the comment she'd made came back to him. _"Carly says cooking is a way to express love."_ He couldn't help but wonder why she had cooked for him, what it meant that she'd gone to such trouble so unexpectedly.

A thought suddenly occurred to him. "Bones, did you ever cook for Sully?"

She only hesitated a fraction of a second before answering with her back turned towards him. "No, I didn't."

"Never?" He was surprised. His mind went blank as implications started knocking on the door of his consciousness. Acknowledging those implications threatened a great deal of confusion and a thrill that was as terrifying as it was promising.

"Why?" she asked, turning towards him with a puzzled frown.

He shook his head and tossed his shoulders, quickly backing away from the question. "Just curious."

Keeping her eyes on him inquisitively, she tilted her head and watched him rinse the last of the serving dishes and place them into the dishwasher. Finally Brennan stepped closer and glanced into the dishwasher he was about to close.

He pushed it closed firmly and locked it. "Bones, if you're going to rearrange it, will you at least wait until after I've left?"

Her eyes lifted to his again, and he felt the breath rush out of his lungs. There were times when she did that to him, winded him with just the silvery lights that glowed so brightly in her gaze. Brennan's eyes were stunning, the first thing he'd ever noticed about her and the one feature he would never forget.

"Sure," she agreed quietly, a lilt of amusement coloring her concession.

Proffering his arm, Booth waited for her to loop her arm through his and led them both back into the living room. The sensation of her brushing up against him sent tiny shocks throughout his body, the faint perfume of her gently teasing his nose. He was far too aware of her, on far too many levels. This was getting dangerous, the line between them blurred and fading rapidly—as if she'd drowned it under too much cheddar and Gruyere. Though part of him wanted that line obliterated, there was another, larger part that feared the consequences of erasing it. Their partnership hinged on getting along, on friendship—risking it for romance was akin to risking everything.

"Wow, it's getting late," he suddenly stated, thinking he should escape before he acted foolishly.

"It's ten," she confirmed.

"I, uh … I should get going." Disengaging from her, Booth stepped back. "Gotta get to work early tomorrow. Thanks for dinner. It was great. Really great."

Her warm pewter eyes rested on him again. "You're welcome."

He grabbed up his jacket and started towards the door. When he reached it, however, something pulled him back into the room. He just had to know. "Bones…"

She was close enough to him that he nearly bumped into her when he'd unexpectedly turned around. He felt compelled to ask the dangerous question despite the trepidation he'd just shunted aside. "Why did you cook for me?"

The answer came so fast he suspected it was rehearsed. "I wanted to try a new recipe."

He shook his head, daring to challenge her. "You said something earlier today, about cooking being a way of loving someone."

Brennan's body tensed. She stepped back, retreating quickly.

Before she could escape Booth reached for her arm and grasped it firmly, holding her near. With his free hand he brought her chin back to him. Their eyes connected and hung helplessly together. "Did you mean that," he whispered.

Fear had dilated her pupils and shortened her breaths. "Booth…."

"Why didn't you cook for Sully?"

Trying to withdraw, she shifted her eyes to a spot behind him. "It … it didn't come up. I don't know."

"Why me and not him," he persisted.

"We're partners," she tried. "Right?"

He shook his head slowly, a smile working its way onto his lips as he detected her nervousness. "Partners don't cook candle-lit dinners for each other."

"They don't?"

His smile was growing broader, more confident. "No."

He could see the gears turning in her head, could almost hear the clacking of thoughts tumbling rapidly through her agile mind. What she came up with knocked him sideways.

"Angela says guys don't hug each other."

Speechless at being busted, he settled for a charm grin instead. He knew his eyes were twinkling at her and she was not immune. "They don't?" he echoed, feigning confusion.

"I've never seen you hug Hodgins or Zack, and when Hodgins tried to hug you today I saw you push him away." Her eyes lifted to his again. "Is it a partners thing?"

With eyes smoldering, Booth drew her closer. It was time to stop pretending. "No, Temperance. What's happening between us isn't a partners thing."

"What's happening," she inquired softly.

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "But I like it. I want it to keep happening."

"Why do you hug me," she asked faintly, her eyes holding his.

"The same reason you cooked for me," he replied, and knew it was true. Her expression shifted, turning tense and steamy, uncertain and curious. He was lost in the stormy seas churning in her eyes. He couldn't help but add, "The same reason you want me to kiss you right now."

She gasped as he pulled her fully into his arms and lowered his lips to hers. The first touch was teasing and tentative, a brushing of sensitive skin, a whisper of startled breath. The second kiss held them more firmly together, her warm lips clinging to his when he started to draw his away. A third touch poured molten heat into his body and clenched the muscles of his gut with the first shock of electricity. By the fourth kiss his own breath was running short, his heart thundering in exhilaration and the electric fire raced throughout his veins. He plunged his hands into her hair, heard her moan faintly, felt her melting against him. When their lips found each other in a fifth kiss, sliding hotly against each other, he nearly lost his mind.

He pushed her back against the door, their bodies straining together. Her hands had found his back and were frantically covering as much real estate as she could reach. Their mouths connected and moved, the erotic contact sending delicious prickles of energy to every corner of his body. His fingertips tingled and the hot mass growing between his legs was demanding attention.

"We gotta stop," he groaned and tried to make good on his word.

But Brennan's lips held his stubbornly, her teeth enforcing the action with tender nips. Her whimpered disagreement was the sexiest sound he'd ever heard. Dropping his palm to cup her thigh, he lifted her leg and pressed himself against her, as if to give her a warning. She arched into him, her own hands bringing him even closer.

"Jesus!" he hissed. The way she was responding was tearing his self control into shreds. Pulling himself back to the knife-edge of insanity, he soothed her by pressing kisses against her throat, her jaw, the curve of her ear. "Baby, we gotta slow down."

"Don't want to," she muttered against his neck. Her fingers combed through his hair and tugged his mouth away from the sensitive skin behind her ear. "Don't call me 'baby,'"

A throaty chuckle escaped him. "Fine, I'll call you Temptress."

"That's not my name," she breathed against his jaw, her lips working him into a frenzy.

He growled and jerked her head back, pulling himself away from her scalding touch. "You're tempting me to ravage you."

He took her in another deep kiss, this one introduced his tongue to the rich cavern of her mouth. They dueled passionately, until he finally had to retreat from her temptation again. As much as he knew he shouldn't, Booth couldn't resist sliding his open mouth against her neck again, his tongue darting out to lick and nip at her smooth, fragrant skin.

"Maybe I want you to," she dared.

"I'm not that easy," he rumbled against her throat. "I don't give it up until the third date."

"Define 'date,'" she demanded as she ran her hands over his pectoral muscles.

Booth groaned and tried to set her away from himself. "A man and a woman, dinner, a movie. Some conversation."

"We've been doing that for two years, Booth." Her eyes blazed into his, their color heated to the pale blue flames of a welder's torch.

"Why did you cook for me?" he challenged her again. "What does it mean? Because if we do this, Temperance, it will be making love."

"I know," she agreed. She met his gaze boldly. "With some people it can't be 'just sex.'"

He'd said that to her a few months ago and now she was repeating it in this context, when his body, mind and heart were screaming for her. Reaching up to stroke his index finger against her lower lip, he felt poised on the edge of fear and hope. "What are you saying? I need to hear you say it."

Vulnerability shown in her eyes, their liquid depths opening to him the secrets of her heart. "So do I," she confessed shyly.

"You need to hear me say I love you?" he confirmed quietly. "Don't you know that already?"

Her eyes told him she didn't.

Gently, sliding his hands into her hair and lifting her face to his, he whispered his truth. "I love you. I've loved you since the day you stood up to me and told me to prove it. I've been proving it ever since, just waiting for you to catch up. I'll spend my life proving it to you, if you let me."

Tears glistened in her eyes, spilled over and rained over her cheeks. "I'm scared, Booth."

Tenderly brushing her tears away, he asked, "What are you afraid of."

"The way I feel about you. The way you make me feel. What if I'm wrong again? What if it doesn't work? I can't lose you…."

Hearing the pain and uncertainty in her made his heart constrict. It was all there, everything she felt and feared, everything she wanted but was too afraid to reach for. "Do you love me, Temperance?"

"Yes," she sighed. "I tried not to but I can't help it. It's too late."

"It's perfect," he contradicted. "Don't be afraid of this."

Taking her mouth again, the change in tone between them shifted seismically. He made love to her with his mouth, his lips and tongue caressing her delicately. Sensing she'd never been kissed with such tenderness, such adoration, he put everything he'd ever felt about her into his touch. Their mouths melded, their bodies fused, and though he'd been with plenty of women over the course of his life, Booth had never felt anything like this. Brennan had taken his soul and he didn't want it back—he wanted hers instead.

His hands slid down her back, molded her waist and traced the curve of her hips. She moaned again as their kiss spiraled out of control, as the compulsion to get closer—_closer_—took over them both. To an outside observer it might almost look like they were fighting as each grappled to bring the other into themselves. Her hands jerked his t-shirt free of his jeans and plunged underneath, searing him when they passed over his sensitized flesh. He needed more skin, more opportunities to touch her, so her blouse had to go. A moment later it fell to the floor and he explored the curves he'd revealed.

"God, you feel so good."

"I love you."

It was getting out of control. He wasn't sure which one of them had spoken. Maybe they both had. Her hands were dipping into the waist of his jeans; his were lifting her camisole over her head. A remnant of rationality warned him to slow down, to take this slow with her, but his body screamed for release in her arms. How could he resist her muffled groans and the sensuous pressure of her body and hands surrounding him.

A moment later they were both shirtless and pressed torso-to-torso. Their hands frantically mapped new territory and he had her pressed into the depths of her sofa only seconds later. Her legs fell open, letting him rest where he most wanted to be. Finding the clasp on her bra, he had her bared to him and his lips found her breasts.

His tongue flicked rapidly over the firm nubs, teeth grazing over her smooth skin as he gently bit and suckled her. Brennan cried out, arching her back and offering herself. He plundered what she'd given, taking everything and groaning as her hips thrust up against his desperately. "Please!" Her hands had gone to his pants, fumbling with belt and button.

The haze of desire clouding his reason thickened until he didn't know how they'd gotten to this point. Their clothes were gone and he was poised to enter her, their eyes fused and their bodies following a moment later. With excruciating care he slid in gradually, felt her body give way, felt her spasm and gasp with the exquisite sensation. She lifted her hips, trying to bring him deeper into her. Her heat enveloped him, clinging and stroking, holding him safe.

The intense pleasure of their joining robbed him of words and thought itself. As they moved together, warm waves of almost agonizing pulses rippled from the point of union and spread out under his skin like ripples on a pond, reaching even the furthest edges. He was almost afraid he was dying, the way his body was shattering. He felt her moving with him, heard her sobbing cries, and knew it was just as powerful for her.

"Love you," he moaned into her mouth. "Love you…" He felt it building to an unbearable intensity, felt the tsunami gathering force in his depths. He couldn't hold it back much longer.

"Booth! Oh God!" Brennan's body writhed beneath his, bucking wildly as the pleasure exploded and took her under. She screamed mindlessly, caught in the grip of a force beyond imagining.

He felt her throbbing around him and his own release surged with an anguished cry. His body turned itself inside out, the waves of ecstasy rippling from the center and taking his breath with them. The pleasure stormed every nerve and sinew, leaving him boneless and sated at last.

Collapsing against her, he came to his senses slowly. As his heart slowed, he gathered her into his arms and pressed kisses over her flushed skin. They panted together, drifting leisurely back to a changed reality that neither would have anticipated an hour ago. Opening his eyes, he was shocked to discover tears leaking out of hers.

"Bones, are you okay?"

Her face crumpled and a sob worked its way out.

"God, did I hurt you?!"

"No. I don't … I never…."

He'd rarely found his partner lost for words, the fact that she was now had him worried that he'd pushed her too far, too fast. Running a gentle hand over her head, smoothing her hair, he tried to show her she was safe. "I'm sorry. It was too much, I should have stopped us."

She shook her head, however, trying to pull herself together. "It's not that. I wanted to."

Relieved, he kissed her tenderly. "Then what?"

"I've never felt … that. What…?" Her confused gaze pleaded for an explanation.

"You mean you've never made love," he pointed out softly. He shook his head, feeling a bit stunned himself. "Before this, I never did either. I only thought I had."

"It felt like I was dying."

"No, sweetheart, you weren't," he breathed. "It was amazing. You're amazing."

"It's just chemicals. How can that…?"

Pressing another tender kiss against her forehead, he shifted sideways and pulled her against his side. "Sex is just chemicals. That was making love, the feeling of love between us—it's so much more than just chemicals. That was _us_."

"Is that what you meant?" She still sounded a bit dazed, but was growing more thoughtful. Temperance Brennan couldn't refrain from analyzing for very long.

"What I meant?" he queried, realizing she'd jumped to a conclusion he couldn't see yet.

Her eyes met his, suddenly confident. Trusting. "When you said with some people it can't be just sex. Is this what you meant?"

He considered it for a moment, recalling the day he'd gazed so intently at Brennan and told them both that sex between them was too complicated to even consider. He'd meant tangled relationships, that sex and work or sex and friendship couldn't mix. But for all his talk of being a people person, of trying to be the 'heart' person she'd believed him to be, Booth acknowledged he'd really had no idea what he was talking about. Despite having never suffered for lack of feminine company except by choice, he'd never felt this connected or engulfed by another person. Looking into the shimmering gaze of Temperance Brennan he saw what he had instinctively known all along. It could never be merely sex with her—it would always be something transcendental, almost spiritual.

"I guess I did, but I didn't realize it at the time."

The fine line that often bisected her left brow when she was deep in thought made a reappearance. He chuckled fondly, torn between kissing it away or letting her always busy brain have its way. The typical products of her contemplation amused him, amazed him, enthralled him. He loved the way her mind worked, mining through layers of ordinary perceptions to triumphantly emerge with her sparkling gems of unique insight.

"So you weren't thinking of me when you said that?"

Unable to continue resisting the lure of her soft skin, Booth brushed his fingertips across her cheek, trailing them to her shoulder and down her arm. His eyes followed where his fingers led, feasting on her lovely curves. "Oh no, I was definitely thinking of you when I said that."

Her eyes opened wide. "You thought about having sex with me?"

The clear astonishment in her voice made him laugh outright. "Of course! Practically daily. You are absolutely beautiful and I am a man after all."

Cheeks inflamed, she shut her eyes and wondered why she was surprised. Of course. Those steamy gazes, the way his eyes had so often held hers. Of course, she should have realized. Though she was laying beside him completely naked, minutes after having made passionate love with him, the sudden epiphany that he'd thought about doing this before unnerved Brennan. She felt exposed and vulnerable, awkward.

Noticing the burning embarrassment consuming her, Booth was intrigued. "Are you saying you never … thought about it?"

"I—" She hesitated, uncharacteristically tongue-tied. "I wouldn't let myself. You … you're my partner and you always seemed so proper, I just…." Drawing another deep breath, she tried again. "I wouldn't have been able to look you in the eyes if I'd have let myself go … there … so…."

"So … no?"

"No." And her face was about to spontaneously combust. "I would always stop it if my thoughts started to stray. Just, think of something else. Or I'd write, sometimes."

That last little confession plunged somewhere deep below his waistline. Booth's mouth went dry. He sat up, suddenly looming over her with a lascivious grin. "You wrote…? You wrote about Andy and Kathy, when you were trying not to think of me?"

Was it possible to burst into flame just from mortification alone? Brennan couldn't quite believe what she'd inadvertently admitted. She struggled to sit, to jump away and put space between them.

"The cases!" she exclaimed desperately.

Laughing, he snared her wrists and pressed her back down. "I knew it!"

"No, you're not Andy," she breathed on a sigh, torn between salvaging a sham of pride or letting him win—because this was going to feel good—and endure his insufferable male posturing forever afterwards. His mouth on hers decided the outcome. She moaned at the delicious contact, marveling that he could defeat her so easily.

"I've read your books, Bones." He teased and nuzzled his way from her mouth to the sensitive skin behind her ear. "You want me to do all those things Andy does to Kathy."

Really, it hadn't been a fair fight.

~Q~

* * *

Author's Note: Did you catch the one changed detail? It was candles.

Now you get to see my needy, insecure side. I'm still not comfortable with graphic but I'm working on it. (I gotta tell you, posting these feels like leaving my diary open in a room full of readers.) Feedback would really help: what was good, and more importantly, what needs improvement. All comments and advice will be gratefully received and profusely thanked in a PM.

Next up in about two weeks is one of my favorite moments that didn't go far enough. (ahem.) Prepare for anger, angst, and a very ... risky ... way to prove a point.


	3. Taking Risks

Author's Note: Happy Memorial Day to my fellow citizens of the United States and a belated Happy Victoria Day to my neighbors in Canada! And to everyone, my humble apologies for the long delay in this chapter. I know I promised a two week wait and it's been closer to four. In my defense, I've begun tutoring ELL students in Anatomy & Physiology and that is taking up much of my spare writing time. This Catch is finally ready and the 4th Catch is nearly finished. And the 5th one is in progress, in which Brennan will get her proof! It may be closer to 3 or 4 weeks apart in updating until late June but I will continue the series. I promise. :)

The Premise: Jared told Brennan two things about his brother. One, that he was uncomfortable with success. (Self-effacing is not necessarily a flaw, however.) Two, that there's a certain risk Jared was sure his brother hadn't taken with Brennan. What if Brennan told Booth about that risk Jared didn't think he would take...?

If she did, that might result in something like this story, wherein there are _three different contradictions_ playing out. From Brennan's perspective, how could a competent man like Booth not get/take credit for his work? From Booth's perspective, what makes Cam/Jared different than Brennan/Jared? And finally, is Jared's assessment of Booth's aversion to risk accurate, given Booth's history as a gambler?

We're starting with the argument in the observation room, wherein Brennan tries to understand why Booth is angry. Put Jealous!Booth with Clueless!Brennan in a small room and this is what might have happened (on HBO) if a certain ill-timed phone call had failed to interrupt their moment.

Speaking of taking risks, with this installment I have most definitely earned the M rating.

Episode tag to The Con Man in the Meth Lab

* * *

_The Catch in the Contradiction_

**Third Catch: Taking Risks**

~Q~

"What happened with your RICO bust?" Brennan's abrupt question caught them both off-guard. She wasn't sure why she asked him now, but the curiosity and concern had been plaguing her all day and he was done with the interview. They were alone in the observation room, which was suitably soundproofed and isolated. (Although, she thought fleetingly, the fact that they were surrounded by recording equipment and standing in front of a one-way mirror while the suspect was still waiting on the other side did somewhat disturb the sense of privacy.) This might not be the best place, but the question was already out.

And Booth was already pausing at the door, turning back to regard her warily. "Nothing. Why?"

Of course, he quickly realized, she wasn't asking out of a vacuum; she knew something had happened or she wouldn't be asking at all. So he scoffed a bit. "Have you been talking to Cam?"

"No." Brennan's brow bisected itself in bewilderment, but the clue wasn't lost on her. Cam knew something she evidently did not know. The contradiction of Booth's skill, the work he'd done, the confidence he'd exuded over his impending success only days ago … all of that flew in the face of the newscast she'd watched that morning. The RICO investigation was announced without his name, with scarcely any FBI credit at all. It didn't fit established parameters. "Did you do something wrong?"

Now he looked annoyed as well as wary. "What do you mean?"

"You didn't get the credit you deserved. What did you do?"

"Life is not always about credit," he deflected, leaving it established that something wrong had been done.

Instead of following up on his perceived wrongdoing, however, Brennan seized on the second contradiction of the day. "That's not what you said before. You said life was all about credit. You were going to Hawaii and they were going to put your face on a coin."

He laughed cynically. Of course, leave it to Temperance Brennan to remember every damn thing he'd said and rub it in when his hopes were dashed. "Okay, you know what? Forget about it, Bones. Let's just forget about it."

Unlike Cam, who would take a hint, Brennan was not going to drop this. She hated contradictions, paradoxes and inexplicable enigmas. A woman whose livelihood was based on solving puzzles would not let one rest just because he asked her to. The explanation she proffered, so right and yet so very damn wrong, was what broke the already tenuous grip on his temper.

"Jared warned me that you tend to sabotage yourself." She hadn't believed it. It hadn't seemed at all likely, and yet Brennan could not reconcile the success he'd proclaimed days ago with the distinct lack of it now. Something had happened, and if it wasn't because Booth was incompetent, then did that make what Jared had suggested true...?

The thought that she might have made a misstep occurred as she watched his body tense. Yet it was already too late to take her comment back. He was turning around, his eyes petrifying.

"_Jared_ said that." What the _hell_… Booth stared into her eyes with absolute disbelief. He'd given up success to keep his brother's drunken playboy _ass_ out of jail, and this was the gratitude he received: Jared feeding lines of bullshit to his gullible partner.

"He said that you're afraid of success." But she didn't believe it, because Booth _was_ successful and talented and highly skilled, an equal to her in his own way. And she _knew_ he deserved the credit for his hard work, and she knew that something had taken it away from him, and the only explanation she had ... was what Jared had told her. It didn't make sense and if she asked, Booth would explain what really happened. Booth would make it clear to her so she could stop thinking about Jared's assessment.

"Hm." Jared. And Brennan. He bit his tongue, trying to give her a pass because this was Bones, his partner, who was often naïve and honest to a fault. And she, naturally, would believe what she was told. And this was from Jared, who had a way with women and would have tried his best to worm his way into her pantyhose. Jared, who'd kept his partner out all night and filled her head with….

So he clenched his jaw and held in just how royally pissed off he was at both of them and wondered instead how far she was going to go. How far away from him was she already?

"So, basically I'm a loser."

At that unexpected summation Brennan frowned, reporting truthfully, "No, he never said you were a loser."

But that was not what he needed to hear. The specifics of Jared's punctures into his unguarded back didn't interest him, her faith in him was what mattered and she just didn't get it. She had not one damn iota of a clue. "Do you think I'm a loser? Like that guy in there?" He pointed out the dismissed suspect, sitting at the interview table with his ankle monitoring device. The balding man, out on parole, sat flapping a crappy hat that matched his crappy, striped fast food uniform. "Some clown in some dumb-ass uniform who basically can't do any better? Is _that_ what you think?"

Not understanding the comparison at all, Brennan glanced blankly between her partner and the suspect. She didn't see any similarities between them: why would Booth ask her that? She didn't care about the RICO success per se, only that Booth had been deprived of what he'd earned. Seeing that her answer was important to Booth, Brennan dug frantically for a reassurance. "Anthropologically, males tend to rank themselves into a hierarchy. There's no shame in not being at the top of the hierarchy."

Was that supposed to comfort him? He glared at her lame attempt to avoid the question. Or maybe she wasn't trying to avoid anything. She really was that damn clueless if she thought telling him it was okay not to be the best was what he needed to hear from her. And the fury that belonged to Jared built and boiled over because she was his partner and _damn it_ couldn't he expect a little loyalty after all they'd been through? Did Jared screw all the sense out of her? Is that what it took to make her stupid, just a little sex from a damn player who didn't give a shit about her except that he got to tap it before big brother?

He should leave before he said something he'd regret, but the enraged and jealous 'male' in him pushed him forward, glaring at her, crowding her lovely female body into a proverbial corner because she'd started this and she was not going to escape unscathed. "You're not answering the question, Bones. Answer _my_ question.

Her eyes widened, dilating with apprehension as he stepped so close he towered over her and left her in no doubt that he was furious with her.

In all the time she'd known Booth he had never displayed such intense fury combined with such tightly coiled attraction. The tension and menace in him stalled her tongue, her higher cognitive functions nearly shutting down in the face of this sudden masculine threat that her primal feminine hypothalamus instantly recognized. Being this out of control and feeling her body respond to his threatening posture with liquid heat was disconcerting, mortifying, and utterly enthralling. Obsidian eyes, brow dark and tense, jaw like corundum (much harder than granite), so large and close and intimidating that she swallowed convulsively. He was going to take. He was poised to take what Jared had implied he was too afraid to touch.

Brennan's pulse exploded in a frenzy as the answer that would simultaneously save her and damn her finally emerged out of her dazed head. "He said you don't take risks. He said…" and she had to pause for a moment to breathe as she realized she was actually going to say it. She needed evidence that only he could provide so she was going to risk repeating it.

Booth had gotten even closer, more menacing, just because she'd admitted what his brother had said. Because he was that much angrier now.

"… He knew," she gasped.

"Knew what," he growled.

"Knew you wouldn't risk it." Brennan thought she might be on the verge of either passing out from the unbelievable dread that filled her, or succumbing to the mounting sexual tension. Her nipples hardened as if chilled, awareness of him sparked in her belly and an answering looseness manifested in her loins. She lifted her eyes, daring finally to face it head on as the last overly stretched threads of his patience snapped and he pushed her back against a wall. The wall. Hard enough to make her wince and moan faintly.

"Risk what."

"Kissing me." Being slightly terrified of this man she trusted had somehow flipped on primitive switches in her brain and body, priming her in ways that would horrify any self-respecting feminist. She did not want to be dominated, not even by Booth, and yet her body clearly relished the possibility.

In the few seconds she was wrestling her self-respect and her response to his raw male power, Booth's eyes turned terrifyingly black. He leaned all the way in, hemming her in between iron arms and breathed his rage against her lips. "I don't take my brother's leavings."

Then he was gone, the heat and everything, absolutely everything left her. Trembling, tears sprouting as reaction set in, Brennan was suddenly glad he'd pushed her up against the wall; it was the only thing supporting her now that her legs were buckling. Why wasn't she relieved?

"I didn't," she whispered, stricken by the loss of potential just because he _thought_ she'd been with his brother. She didn't even know why it bothered her, all the disapproval she was garnering for something she hadn't even done. Cam and Angela, now Booth. She didn't care what people thought of her dating habits. It was irrational to let a misunderstanding upset her, but Booth was so angry and tense and nothing made sense. "Everyone thinks I had sex with him, but I didn't."

"No?" It was Brennan and she didn't lie. She wasn't lying, instead he could see she was thoroughly shaken. Slightly placated, he turned back but he was still boiling, still fuming oily black smoke when he stumbled back to her with a ragged accusation. "But you wanted to, didn't you. Why not, did he turn you down?"

Bewildered and finding her own anger raising up to meet his, Brennan caught her hands against the wall and pushed herself upright. She stepped towards him, outraged that he would accuse her. First because, really, he had no right. Second, he'd said she could go. And third, he was jumping to conclusions without evidence, something she always told him not to do. And something she was trying desperately not to do but nothing Booth told her fit ... except that he seemed to be angry about her perceived relationship with Jared. "Did it occur to you that I might not be interested in having sex with your brother?"

"You sure as hell seemed interested when you said he was more symmetrical than me and practically begged him to chose you over Cam."

"He said he wanted someone smart and I _am_ smarter than Cam."

"That is certainly debatable," he snarled. "And really, you expect me to believe _that's_ what it was? An IQ contest between you and Cam?"

"I don't understand. Why are you so angry?"

"Because, you are my _partner,_ Bones." Because Jared knew she was and still he'd tried to corrupt her. Cam wouldn't have fallen for it.

Thoroughly lost, she was struggling to uncover the source of his anger. He didn't care when Cam accepted, but his fury now was unmistakable. Fury, and jealousy, and it had all started with comparisons. Jared was more symmetrical; Brennan was more intelligent; Cam could go out with Jared; Booth was angry that Brennan had instead. "Did you not want me to go out with him?"

Then why had he given his approval?

Another bolt of rage slammed out of him through his fist slamming the wall next to the observation glass. Brennan flinched slightly, and so did the languishing suspect inside the interview chamber. "I work with you," he spat.

"But you … you work with Cam, too. You asked if I talked to her, which suggests she knows about what went wrong with the RICO case. She knows but you won't tell me." None of this made sense. Brennan shook her head, so confused she wondered if this was what madness felt like.

"She's my friend, Bones."

"And I'm ... _not_ your friend?" She was only a work partner, that's what he'd just said. _'You're my partner ... I work with you.'_ So, that was it. That was why he wouldn't confide in her, why he wouldn't explain. Stung, she told herself it was better that she understood her role as merely a coworker excluded friendship. She shouldn't have asked, shouldn't have pushed for more, because only friends were privy to such personal information and ... she wasn't a friend. Trying not to let him see how much he'd hurt her, Brennan started to push past him.

Impatiently, he caught her arm and shoved her back. How the hell could a genius be this damn inept? "Of course you're my friend, damn it!"

He was rough with her, angry and impatient and the rebuttal of her conclusion was not at all comforting. Hopelessly, on the verge of tears, she repeated, "Then I don't understand!"

"No, you don't." Her dejection broke through his anger, reminding him that Brennan needed clear, concise information. She would never understand unless he explained it to her, and he hadn't. Stepping back into her space, still angry but determined to show her why, he leaned in again. "Think for a minute, Bones. There's a difference between you and Cam."

He watched the distancing in her eyes as she obeyed, pondering, her overly analytical brain no doubt spitting out 1001 differences on the spot. But there was only one difference that she needed to grasp. And she wasn't going to, not unless he was very explicit.

Not unless he took a risk.

And maybe, that was exactly what she wanted. "You think I don't take risks?"

Her eyes were on his again, still clouded with confusion and traces of arousal. Did his brother look into those eyes, so alive with intelligence and light? Did he appreciate how ethereal her eyes were, with their iridescent glints of silver, green and gold? Did he run his fingers through her smooth, glossy hair? Did he tell her she was beautiful? This jealousy was burning holes in his brain, robbing him of reason, and he had no one to blame but himself. It was true: the unspoken taunt, passed through her by Jared, was that Seeley Booth wouldn't take a certain risk.

"What risks did Jared take with you? Did he touch you?"

"Yes." During the course of the evening Jared's hand had found reasons to fall on her hand, her back, her shoulder.

"Where did he touch you?"

She told him, reporting it in her typically matter-of-fact fashion, but her voice trembled slightly.

"Did he touch you here?" Boldly, Booth risked palming her breast through her blouse and a thin demi-bra.

Brennan gasped, shocked into stillness as his fingers kneaded into her flesh.

Groaning, he squeezed his eyes closed and felt her softness give under his hand. Bolder still, he worked her free of the bra and flicked his thumb over her nipple, heard her second sharp intake of breath. Her nipple hardened involuntarily, alerting him to the effect he could have on her. And at that revelation he smiled, opened his eyes to hers, watched her struggle to decide what to do about his very unexpected (but not entirely unwelcome) advance.

Not entirely unwelcome, because he'd be sporting several broken bones by now if she didn't want him touching her.

"You think I don't take risks," he repeated. His other hand dropped to her waist and flicked the catch of her slacks open. Before she fully comprehended his intention, he slipped his hand down into her pants, skating his fingers over the plane of her belly.

Brennan flinched as if he'd burned her, the muscles contracting away from the torturous path his fingers traced on her skin. "Did he touch you here?"

Momentarily stunned by his daring and the hormonal surges it caused, she could only give a simple answer because even her genius brain couldn't keep up with this rapid change in circumstances. "No..."

Reaching further, finding the silky curls that guarded territory Jared had no hope of reaching after all, he took another risk. "Did you want him to?"

"No," she moaned, trying to pull his hand away.

He just pushed his hand deeper into her heat, all the way down to the soft folds that had already become slick. Oh unholy hell, he was shocked at how responsive she was, how ready. His fingers slid over her, both hands stroking her above and below, and he felt himself nearly explode when he saw her eyes go hazy with pleasure.

"But you want this," he told her with graveled certainty as he circled her silky pleats.

Oh, god, what was he doing? Her eyes closed and her head fell back as pleasure rolled through her in waves. The sensations were almost more than she could endure. He teased her just enough to drive her wild but not enough to satisfy. She wanted it to continue and she wanted it to build and overflow.

She wanted … this. She wanted … more. She wanted _him_….

"You think I don't take risks? Open your eyes, Temperance."

She did, mindlessly obeying his harsh directive while the intense tension built between her thighs and robbed her of every thought but how incredible this sensation was. How much she wanted it to continue. He circled and plunged, circled and plunged, the rhythm driving her to the edge of oblivion but not as much as what he was telling her.

"Look where we are. At the Hoover, in an observation room. Anybody could walk in here, and see me here with my hand in your pants. Making you weak, making you wet. God, you're this wet for _me_, aren't you."

She groaned, hating that he was right and her will to prove herself impervious had vanished, leaving her absolutely defenseless because her body had been hijacked by hormones and was responding with a will of its own. In a saner frame of mind she would be able to actually name the chemical culprits that had reduced her to a quivering bundle of axons and actin fibers. She'd always believed those chemicals were fleeting and frangible, easily evaded or at least escaped with a clever enough mind. Booth touched her and proved her hubris: she was just as susceptible to evolution's reproductive trap as any other human female.

"There's a suspect sitting right over there," Booth whispered into her ear, licking her lobe, making her tremble even as his fingers danced rapid circles around her engorged flesh and sent sparks flying. Spinning, twisting, plunging. And again, and again. "I could flip on the sound, and he'd hear us in here. You want to take that risk, Bones? You think you can stay quiet when I fingerfuck you and make you come?"

Desire and anger, ignited by his touch and his cocky confidence, mixed and combusted into a small spark of resistance. Damn him and his arrogance! Damn herself for being so weak-willed. Humiliation made her try again to push him back but with his free hand he held her firmly against the wall, his busy fingers picking up speed with a dexterity she'd never have guessed possible. Tension pulled tightly in her legs and belly, wrinkled her brow, shuttered her senses to all but the excruciating pull. She wanted to fight him yet how could she when her traitorous body was strumming for more, quivering for the release he could give her.

"Come for me baby." He started nuzzling her throat, then lifted his face to gaze down at her while his fingers expertly played her. The strongest woman he knew could barely stand now. He was holding her up, her hips twitching, her eyes closed in blissful suffering, her head rolling restlessly while soft moaning cries fell from her parted lips. "Let me see how beautiful you are when it happens. Let me see you come."

This was agony, she thought desperately. He was trying to prove his mastery over her and she didn't ... no man was her master ... but this was Booth and he _knew_ her. He was touching her like he knew exactly what she wanted, like her body belonged to him already. It was the chemical fog that made her forget this was Booth and he could easily please her because he could easily read her. He always had. And every sigh, every moan, every twitch of her body told him how to control her responses. How to set her up. How to make her fall.

"I'm going to watch you," he promised, his own voice grinding out his own inevitable arousal. "I'm going to watch your pretty lips fall apart, your eyes glaze. I'm going to feel your body shake and the whole time I'll be reminding you that I'm the one doing this for you. So come for me, let me have it. Let me have you."

Her brow had furrowed, an expression of near agony crossing her features when he amplified his fondling of her. He could see she was resisting it, struggling to overcome the impulses of her body despite the unconscious jerking of her hips that proved how close she was to surrender.

"You think I don't take risks?" He slowed the movement of his fingers just enough to make her cry out in ragged need. "I'm going to take the ultimate risk. I'm going to tell you what makes you different from Cam. And what makes me different from my brother. Open your eyes and look at me."

Her dazed eyes opened, locking on his as his fingers plunged deeply into her and his thumb flicked her switch.

"I love you."

It started somewhere in the center of her belly, a freight train of sensation, rippling, ripping, crashing and through it she heard his voice repeating.

"I love you. I love you, Bones. And you love me. That's what makes us different. That's why you're going to come for me."

Her legs buckled and she screamed involuntarily, her cries muffled immediately by his hot mouth covering hers and she screamed her release into him. Oh god, oh _god_ … she'd never felt like this. All the tension released her corded muscles like flailing wires, sparking and waving and turning her inside out. For a small eternity she was lost in the fray of her body's combustion, all sense of herself gone. There were no laws, there was no universe. There was nothing but Booth, his hands, his mouth, his voice, and the volcanic vibrations that destroyed every barrier between them.

When she slowly started to return to awareness, his voice called her back and his fingers stroked her gently, soothing the heated flesh while the lingering shocks and pulses faded.

"Oh God, you're so beautiful. God that was beautiful. Oh baby, I want to see that again."

Trembling, she felt herself being hauled up against him, his arms sheltering her, his voice crooning against her damp cheek. "I love you. It's okay, baby. I love you."

"Booth," she gasped, still so scattered she could barely complete a single thought, still shaky and trying to get her bearings, still trying to process the tumult of emotions sparked by what he'd done and what he'd said to her. Before she could recover he tilted her head back and kissed her sweetly, nuzzling her lips open with slow dragging passes over her gasping mouth. The slow, deep kisses grew increasingly desperate as his own arousal asserted itself against her belly. Now at last his hands roamed her body while his lips ravaged her. Teeth clashed briefly before he jerked the edge of her blouse away from her neck and planted his possessive mouth over the soft hollow below the join of her clavicle with her coracoid process. He drew the flesh in fiercely, marking her.

Then, lifting his head, their eyes met and held. Her body still smoldered, a delicious afterglow of warmth lingering between her thighs. The burning mark on her, the lingering languor, his sizzling gaze, it was too much to process. She knew she should say something, object to petechial branding, reciprocate his affections, offer to relieve his painful erection. "I ... I don't..." and she stalled there because the competing impulses had tangled in her mind.

"It's okay," he soothed as if he understood precisely what she couldn't articulate yet. "I know."

He loved her, it was slowly unfurling tendrils of life in nooks and crannies too long neglected. His eyes held hers like a grow light in a hothouse, making the tendrils spread. She wanted to respond appropriately, demonstrate how she felt about Booth in a similar physical fashion that would bring him the same immense pleasure she'd just experienced.

She wanted him to feel it, she wanted to try.

Seeing it written in her blazing eyes, he smiled confidently. "Come on, let's get you straightened up here."

All of her faculties gradually coming back online brought with them an appreciation for the literal sense of what he'd just said. He stood her upright, swiftly aiding with the restoration of her clothing and smoothing her hair back into place. And no sooner had they finished and their hands dropped to their sides, but the door behind him opened.

Both partners froze as Special Agent Quimby stuck his head in. "Are you two ever going to finish up in here? I need the room."

Brennan's mortified gaze flew to Booth's, and to his everlasting amusement she actually flushed as she realized the door hadn't been locked.

Grinning irresistibly, he stepped closer, hiding her blush from Quimby as he drove his point home. "Still think I don't take risks?"

~Q~

* * *

Author's Note: Holy smokes, I can't believe I just wrote that. I'm just going to go hide in the next room and pretend I have no idea what's going on in that little review box down there...


	4. Moving On

Author's Amazement: All I can say is I can't believe how popular this series is so far! Thank you to everyone who is reading, marking this into favorites, watching, and reviews. Wow.

Author's Note: While I realize part of the allure in this series has been the ... (sexy) romance stories ... I am not a one-trick writer. Sometimes I feel kind of angsty when school gets too crazy and that's when a chapter like this comes along. Two friends (Casket4mytears & Delia84) suggested this catch. There's a lot of angst here, and it's not exactly resolved. However, what is revealed in this one-shot feeds well into the awkwardness of the episode that follows this tag, as well as the wonderful final conversation in Blackout in the Blizzard.

The Premise: Once upon a time, Booth told Brennan that love is eternal, which is why it's worth it to sacrifice one's happiness for a loved one. But it seems he doesn't live up to that ideal. What if Brennan finally reached her limit and called him on it...?

The current chapter is a hard T for a strategically placed f-bomb (or two).

Episode tag to The Daredevil in the Mold

* * *

_The Catch in the Contradiction_

**Fourth Catch: Moving On**

~Q~

_February 2011_

"What is it with women who don't want what I'm offering here?"

That's what he'd asked, grinding it out, furious and self-centered and not at all interested in any objective evaluation she might have offered. But he'd been drinking, already several shots and a couple of beers into his binge, and he was hurt so she let it go when he lumped her in with the women who'd earned his rage. She let him give her an ultimatum, drink or get a new partner, and she'd chosen to stay with him because love lasts forever.

A long time ago, she'd given him credit for knowing hearts, the expert on all things emotional. Booth had personified love, loyalty, perseverance, faith and trust. Brennan acknowledged to herself that she'd been childish then, putting all of her faith in his mentorship even when he'd proved himself inconsistent and occasionally inept. Now she'd grown up as all children do, learned that no one is perfect and suffered heartbreak accordingly. She'd since recovered and she knew what it meant to say, love lasts forever.

It meant never giving up, never leaving.

"Come on, Booth, it's time to go."

Two hours had passed since she'd taken the first shot and though she'd kept to careful moderation, he was maintaining a steady level of intoxication. His words slurred, but were still intelligible. They'd chatted about inconsequential things like sports (Booth did the ranting, throwing around statistics and team names as if they were supposed to mean something) and a dig in central Ohio she'd recently declined (Brennan enthused about uncovering more information about the Cahokia culture who had built the serpent mounds, only ceasing when she realized Booth's glazed eyes were not due to alcohol). They both contributed to discussions of previous cases. But all of these topics were frequently punctuated by long and awkward silences that Booth filled with gulps of burning Scotch.

"Don't wanna go," he slurred now at her invitation to exit their post-case haven. "Like it here, with you."

Glancing at her watch, she tried again. "It's late, Sam is signaling that he's going to cut you off and Hannah is probably still up waiting for you. I'll drive you home."

"No," he objected sharply, seeming to regain a surprising level of sobriety merely at the suggestion of returning to his apartment. "I'm not going home. She's prob'ly still there."

Brennan hesitated, surprised by both the vehement refusal and the reason behind his objection. "Of course Hannah's still there. Why wouldn't she be?"

"She's packing."

"What? Why would she be packing?"

Impatiently. "That's what people do when they leave, Bones."

That didn't make sense. Hannah hadn't mentioned leaving during their brief phone call, she'd simply cried and explained the ill-fated proposal (the results of which Brennan did not find surprising because she knew Hannah shared her antipathy towards traditional marriage), then had asked Brennan to go take care of him. "I don't understand. Why would she leave?"

"I want her to."

He _wanted_ her to leave? Oh. A sinking feeling took hold as she realized it: Booth had already 'moved on.' Hannah said no and he moved on that very night. Brennan stood quietly, turning it over in her mind, trying to understand why this information should disturb her so much. Not sure what to say, she signaled Sam and went to pay the tab. Booth sat glumly at the bar, waiting for her to return and went with her willingly to her Prius.

Quietly, she offered, "Since you won't go home, I guess you can stay in my guest room. Or would you prefer a hotel?"

He grumbled, "I can't afford a hotel."

"Fine." They drove silently the rest of the way, he brooding and she slowly coming to a rolling boil.

At her apartment she efficiently pulled out towels and a spare toothbrush, then prepared the coffee pot for morning. Booth stood in the center of the living room, watching her silent activity and grim expression with mounting confusion.

"Bones, why are you so quiet?"

Handing him the towels, she avoided his eyes and shrugged. There was too much tumbling through her head, too many emotions tangling that she needed time to tease apart, and he was still intoxicated; all of which meant it was not an auspicious time to attempt an explanation. So she shook her head. "It's nothing."

"Come on, we're partners."

That clumsy reminder only served to increase the pressure she was operating under. _Now_ they were partners? A couple of hours ago he'd threatened to end their partnership if she didn't accept his limitations on said partnership. They could only be casual friends, nothing more. Never before in her life had Brennan been this acutely aware of how perilously close she was to an explosion. "It's not a good time," she tried again and turned to go.

"You've barely spoken to me for the last hour."

Heaving a sigh, eyes flashing a warning, she turned back and said, "I find I am exceedingly vexed with you, Booth."

Befuddled. "Vexed?"

"Angry. I am angry, and I need time and space."

Stunned, he ignored both requests as he stepped into her space and demanded, "_You're_ angry? What the hell for?"

"Why is Hannah leaving? You told me you loved her. You said she wasn't a consolation prize." And the pain of that conversation was still with her, it still burned and smoldered, and it was a pain she was slowly getting used to because it was what he wanted.

"She said no!"

Bitterly, she challenged, "So you're 'moving on?'" Brennan's glassy gaze pierced his, as if the edges of her broken heart were still sharp enough to cut them both. She watched him carefully, waiting for the old familiar words to register, and they did.

He made her wait for ten heartbeats before speaking. Defensive but unrepentant, he confirmed it. "Yeah."

Her entire body tensed. For one endless second, she stared at him in disbelief and hoped she'd misunderstood. But she hadn't; this was history repeating itself and this time it was she and Hannah both who got trampled and crushed. For the first time in her adult life, the highly-educated scientist with three PhD's, the Edgar-Award winning novelist, found herself completely incapable of intelligent expression.

"Fuck you!"

Rage burned through her like a holocaust, so caustic she knew she had to get away before she actually killed him because in hearing those words repeated, Temperance Brennan had never hated another person with such infernal intensity. Scrambling to get away, she strode for the front door, swiping her keys and purse, swiping furious tears out of her eyes so she could stop fumbling with the doorknob and actually get the _God damned door open_. She didn't know she was crying until he jerked her around with his own furious shout.

"What the hell is that for?"

"Leave me alone," she screamed, shoving him back. It was just too much, too hard to contain and he wouldn't stop pushing even when she'd asked him to give her time and so this rare eruption of Mount Temperance was inevitable. "I hate you. I _hate_ you, I hate your cruelty, I hate your fucking _bullshit_! You don't know _anything_ about love!"

He looked stunned, realizing in seven years he'd only seen this side of her temper twice before and neither time had involved profanity or outright screaming. So he was stunned, but it didn't last long because he was angry and he was hurting and she was the one person he'd thought he could count upon for sympathy. "What gives you the right to speak to me like that?"

She advanced on him, suddenly seizing the moment to school him now when her crushed and bleeding heart had taken all it could stand. "Experience and observation gives me the right. How many times did you propose to Rebecca?"

"That has nothing—"

"Shut up! It was a rhetorical question; I already know the answer."

Grinding his teeth together, he looked away and said nothing.

Oh yes, she thought with scalding wrath. The pattern was there. She'd never had enough data to formulate a hypothesis before, but the observations were repeated with consistent outcomes and she knew the explanation now. Everything pointed to this model: Booth was full of romantic bullshit and she knew what bullshit was, a big pile of steaming excrement. Waste. It was all a waste. "Once," she spat. "And how long after she declined did you wait to 'move on?'"

His eyes flew to hers, catching the wind that precedes the firestorm ignited by her fury, and he answered grudgingly. "A month."

Swallowing the knot that was strangling her, she choked out, "You gave me a week, Booth. And Hannah, you only gave her a night!"

His own firestorm ignited.

"You said NO," he yelled, stepping up to her and letting his own temper fly. Holy hell, he was the one who'd been turned down and she had the gall to call him names? "What was I supposed to do, grovel at your high and mighty feet? Beg you? What the fuck did you expect me to do, Bones?"

After the first, violent blast, lava oozes. Ice melts and forms lahars, mudslides and total collapse. Crying openly, she told him what he should have done. "You said love is eternal, that people don't leave. You told me you wanted fifty years with me, and then you _left_."

"What the hell are you talking about? I didn't leave and it damn near killed me to see you with Hacker."

"Oh, yes, you were suffering so much with Catherine."

His jaw dropped in astonishment. "You dated my _boss_. And I let you because I was a damn doormat for you."

"I only dated him because you said you were going to move on. The minute I said I couldn't change, you were done. You asked Catherine out a week later."

"What did you expect?" he roared again.

And she hated him, she hated the power he held, the way he could hurt her. She wanted to beat him, hurt him the way he'd hurt her and the way she was suffering now. Flying forward, she shoved him, her fist smashing into his sternum, right over his cold heart and he staggered backwards a step. "I expected you to love me enough to wait for me!"

"I waited _five years_."

"I didn't know that! How was I supposed to know that?! You never said a word, Booth, except to make romantic speeches and generalities and all those LINES. When you finally said something it was just to offer me a _gamble_ and _five minutes_ to make up my mind, and I couldn't decide that fast so you showed me how strong your love was by 'moving on.'"

"You. Said. NO." Frustrated to be hashing over ancient history, he ran a hand through his hair. Brennan's pain was hitting him hard, he could hear it, hear her broken heart crackling under the running stream of words. He listened, too tired and drunk to stop the flow. Maybe it would be better if she got it all out.

"Once. And you never asked again. Hodgins proposed three times! _Three!_ And when Angela said no three times he said, 'Okay' and he loved her anyway. He stayed. He loved her and he stayed. Even when they broke up, he stayed. And when he thought she was pregnant with Wendell's baby, he stayed. He offered to marry her again. And now they are married because he never gave up."

Brushing tears away, still shaking with anger and grief, she shook her head. "I love you like that, Booth. You've no idea how much pain I've endured watching you with Hannah. I befriended her and supported your relationship, and tonight I thought maybe I'd help you see that you should be patient with her. Like Hodgins was with Angela because…"

A sob shook her as she struggled to control herself so she could get the rest out. "…because you said you love her. And I want you to be happy. I only wanted you to be happy and I stayed even though it hurt me. I would have stayed even if you married her."

Crying too hard to finish, she felt him coming closer. "Bones…"

"I would have stayed forever, but you left."

That halted him again. She kept saying he'd left which not only wasn't fair, it wasn't even accurate. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Afghanistan."

"No." He was still angry, that momentary surge of sympathy for her tears rapidly dissolving under her fresh accusation. "_You_ left for Maluku, and then you didn't even write to me."

"I couldn't."

"Why the hell not? You had Internet access."

"Because I was too hurt."

"_You_ were hurt? You're the one who decided to go," he repeated again.

"No I _didn't_!" She screamed her rebuttal, far too engaged in the cataclysm to modulate her voice. "You signed that paper without even talking to me! When I told you I'd been offered the position, you'd already committed yourself to the Army, so what was I supposed to do then? There was no reason to stay after that."

"You wanted to go," he said, lamely, as her point struck home. It was true: he'd signed on to a year away without speaking to her first. He'd made an assumption. He'd listened to Daisy and Sweets when they told him about Brennan's offer and he had projected his own fear that she would leave onto Brennan. He'd left first.

"I wanted you to give me a reason to stay but you left. And when you came back, I thought I'd take the chance you asked for because I missed you so much. You came back with Hannah; you said it was serious. And I accepted it because I know that I didn't write and that _is_ my fault."

It was the first time she'd acknowledged that. He crossed his arms, confessing that she'd truly wounded him with her silence. "It felt like you left me. All those months in hell, I needed my best friend and I never got a single word from you. Do you have any idea how much that hurt _me_?"

"I'm sorry." This was why she hated crying, it made her eyes red and her nose run and her head throb and her throat wouldn't work. She hated the physical symptoms and the perception of being a weak female who sniveled instead of taking action. But this was regret, the one she'd realized she would always carry even though she didn't want to have regrets. "I understand that my silence was painful for you, and that you felt ... abandoned. And I'm truly sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you like that."

"It's fine," he said roughly. "I mean, it's not like you singled me out to be ignored. You didn't write to anyone."

Bitterly, she continued. "I buried my feelings because everyone expected it. That's what you wanted. You moved on, Hannah moved in, and you told me … you told me it was love and I believed you when you said it was worth it."

"Then why did you make a play for me last December. What was that?"

Wiping more tears away, she shook her head. "That was me finally reaching my breaking point because it _hurt_. It hurt so much I felt like I was dying. I needed to know the pain I was going through was worth it. I knew you'd choose Hannah because you love her. I let you crush my heart again so I could have the proof that you love Hannah more than me. Then I would know there was nothing to regret."

That was about the last thing he'd ever expected to hear. When she'd said she didn't want to have regrets, he'd been angry with her for such spectacularly bad timing: to wait until he was fully immersed in a relationship and then finally speak her mind? To finally tell him when it was too late, if she'd been anyone other than Brennan he'd have kicked her out of the car and made her walk home. It was just so typically Bones to say the wrong thing at the wrong time and leave him with nothing but his own guilt and regret.

She was still speaking, still making him feel guilty with her words that scooped out his heart and marrow. Revelations that revealed too much, too late. "But now…"

He held still, realizing they'd both reached a breaking point. After all the anger and hurt had erupted, the woman who stood by the door sounded like a hollow container, empty.

"Now, if you won't give Hannah a second chance, know that you destroyed me twice, for no reason. All this pain, everything I gave up for you was for _nothing_, because you've proven you're incapable of love."

She turned, reaching the door and as she was closing it, he called out, "Where are you going?"

"You can't afford a hotel. But I can." She slammed the door behind her.

~Q~

Using the key to let himself in, Booth cautiously poked his head through the gap and called out. "Hannah?"

"I'm still here," she answered in a flat tone. "I'm sorry, I just ..."

As she broke off, he thought he heard a small, snuffling sob.

"I'm glad you're here," he said quickly, before he could change his mind. Going all the way in, he added, "I don't want you to go."

She came out of the bedroom, eyes red-rimmed and bags trailing. "You don't."

"No."

But he wouldn't meet her eyes, and his shoulders slumped. She could see he'd been drinking, and though he'd said he didn't want her gone, Hannah earned her living as a paid observer of words and body language. She could tell he wasn't being sincere.

"I thought you would stay with Temperance tonight."

"I'm not that shallow," he stated coldly.

"No, not..." she trailed off as understanding kicked in. Hannah narrowed her eyes. "Why are you here?"

Refusing to look her way, he shrugged it off. "We had an argument."

Taking in information, turning it over, Hannah drew an unlikely conclusion and tested it. "She came onto you...?"

"What the hell?! NO! The opposite. She yelled at me for not giving you another chance and left me to stew."

Not sure if it was relief or vindication, Hannah dropped her bags and shook her head. Temperance Brennan was always an enigma, but never more than now. "She yelled at you?"

Sheepishly, he elaborated. "Screamed, actually. Called me names, cursed at me. Cried."

"Cried?"

And this was where Seeley Booth had to humble himself, because it was his reserved and rational partner who taught him about love. Taught by example. "She told me I have to love you enough to wait for you."

Softly, she asked, "Why?" What he'd told her about Temperance last December came back to her then, the way he'd made it seem one-sided and all in the past as far as he was concerned. So what would make Temperance cry, why would she want Seeley to try harder when really, a heartbroken jilted woman should be rubbing her hands with glee at the way this had unfolded? And Hannah felt fresh tears coming when the truth hit her. Oh, God, it was the only conclusion that made sense. "Because you didn't wait for her?"

"No. I didn't."

Astonished, Hannah stood next to her bags and wondered. Just _wondered_, as in marvel and awe and maybe even a little bit of reverence. "And she wants you to wait for me."

"Yeah."

"Why?" she asked again.

"I don't know."

"Yes you do. _Why_, Seeley." God, he was a fool. Hannah crossed the room at last to stand right in front of him and force him to face the truth. "_Why_ does Temperance want you to wait for me?"

Reluctantly, he finally explained. "Because if I don't, then all the pain she's gone through was for nothing."

All the pain... Hannah closed her eyes for a moment, replaying all those wistful little glances Temperance had been prone to giving Seeley. All the pain of self-sacrifice. "How much pain?"

"More than I realized." More than anyone realized.

But Hannah had befriended Temperance Brennan and knew her better than Booth realized. The antique phone, _"Be sure ... Booth will give himself to you completely,"_ saving her life by checking x-rays, the way she knew Seeley so well and yet Hannah had always trusted them together because Temperance herself had stepped clearly out of the way.

"She kept it quiet, didn't she. All this time she's been watching us with her broken heart, thinking her pain was worth it because you were happy. Now that we're ending, Temperance thinks she sacrificed herself for nothing. That's why she cried, isn't it."

"Yeah."

Drawing a shaky breath, Hannah turned away to face the door and she closed her eyes to keep in the tears. "When you first told me about her, you said you were just partners. You kept all of this history hidden from me."

"We _are_ just partners. I didn't want you to feel jealous or threatened by her."

And she laughed, low and cynical and more than a little astonished at his capacity for self-delusion. "There's nothing 'just' about your partnership with Temperance."

Neither of them spoke for several minutes, until Hannah roused herself and pushed them past the impasse. "The only reason you're here now is because you can't stand to break her heart again, but that's the wrong reason to stay with me. You're only here for _her, _not for me. God, Seeley, doesn't that tell you something?"

"I thought I was doing the right thing." Again, he'd come back to do the right thing, to prove to Brennan that love lasted, and this was how the universe repaid him. Brennan was angry and hurt; Hannah was hurt and leaving; and Booth found himself alone again, all for doing the honorable thing.

She knew he was finally being honest. "I don't want to be anybody's obligation," Hannah finally said, feeling a hollow sensation in the center of her chest where his love should be. "You've come back for the wrong reason."

"I know."

"Do you? Do you understand why I had to say no? I've always known I was your second choice." Snatching up her bags, Hannah was at the door when he realized she really was still leaving.

His heart squeezed at the undisguised anguish in her voice. "Hannah?"

"I'll call Temperance and explain. She stepped out of the way for me; it's time I returned the favor."

~Q~

* * *

Author's Note: This story ends with three suffering, confused people, but getting the whole truth out will help all three of them start to recover. (And yes, I actually do feel sorry for Hannah because if Booth truly loved her, her saying no wouldn't have mattered. There's more I could say, but I think I'll leave that for another Catch, probably #7 or 8.) Meanwhile, I like leaving it this way because once Booth gets over his anger (and I believe he's angry with himself as the upcoming Catch I've just hinted at will show), he knows Brennan is going to be waiting for him.

As always, any reviews kindly given will receive a personal thanks in a PM. But a general thank you goes to everyone reading!

Author's Preview: Next up, Brennan finally gets caught, and she may get the proof she demanded in Catch #1. Stay tuned for Catch #5... :D


	5. Omission

Author's Thanks: Again, thank you to everyone who reads this series. I can only hope you all enjoy reading these as much as I enjoy designing the catches.

Author's Promise Fulfilled: After the first Catch, a few of you asked if Brennan would ever get her 'proof.' And DorothyOz thought Brennan herself needed to be caught because dating two guys at once doesn't seem honest. Booth has been giving it some thought and he agrees with DorothyOz. The funny thing is, those contradictions can pop up very unexpectedly. People can get caught when they're least expecting it.

The Premise: Brennan has always been straightforward and honest, yet she seems to be stringing two men along. She's with one man for sex and another for companionship, and neither man knows about the other. Is she guilty of a lie of omission?

The current chapter follows immediately after Catch #1 and is very definitely M for sexuality and the occasional profanity ('cause Booth is a cop and they talk that way. True story).

Episode tag #2 for The Man in the Outhouse.

* * *

_The Catch in the Contradiction_

**Fifth Catch: Omission**

~Q~

The drive to her apartment was silent, and far more tense than usual. Visualizing stern Sister Agatha from his school days definitely calmed the riot in his pants, but nothing would soothe the turmoil in his mind. Temperance Brennan, his cool and rational partner, had just forced him to admit he wanted her and then all but dared him to prove he was a man.

But he didn't know why. Glancing at her swiftly from the edge of his eye, Booth reminded himself that he'd caught her with an undressed man in her apartment that morning, and he was taking her home from a foiled date with a different man this evening. If she wanted _him_, Seeley Booth, what the hell was she doing with the others…?

Maybe she really didn't want him: it could simply be revenge because he'd interrupted both of her liaisons that day. Well, the first had been unintentional, but she undoubtedly knew the second interruption was fully planned. Partly he'd been curious, mostly he'd been jealous. He was jealous and more than a little shocked that she, honest to an embarrassing fault Temperance Brennan, was dating two guys at once. Yes, it had soothed him a little to learn Jason was not a contender when she admitted she wasn't physically attracted to him, but that guy Mark just pissed him off.

"So," he finally said, ending the silence. "How long have you been seeing Mark?" _Seeing?_ His brain tormented. _More like screwing._ He clenched his jealous jaw shut, determined not to say the rest of what he was thinking. What kind of asshole just drops by every few months for a fucking? Didn't he want more from her than that? The jerk had an invitation to the all-you-can-eat Brennan Buffet and all he was interested in was occasional grazing. Was he an idiot, or an asshole...? That's what Booth needed to know.

"We've had this arrangement for several years."

"Hmm." A long time. Idiot and Asshole. "Where did you meet this … guy?" (Asshole)

Surprised by his sudden, keen interest, the corner of her mouth curled upwards, almost a grin. "Why do you want to know?"

Why? Because he was jealous. That guy got to see her, touch her, hear her moans and sighs and bury himself in her heat. All the unpleasantness of thinking about Sister Agatha's shrill commands not to despoil one's own body with impure thoughts nearly went to waste as those images teased him. "Because, Bones, you have three PhDs and that guy is an undersea welder. What the hell do you have in common? Where would someone like you even meet a blue collar guy like him?"

"Same place I met a guy like you," she shot back tartly. "And what we have in common is a healthy, frequently frustrated sex drive."

Ignoring the sex drive remark (she probably said it to drive him insane), he pulled into her parking lot and drove into her second tenant's spot that he'd claimed as his own when he'd helped her move into the loft apartment. "You met me at American University."

Before he had the car all the way in park Brennan hopped out of the car wearing the same sly little smile. "Precisely."

The door slammed shut, leaving him to leap out after her two seconds later, to chase her over to the door where she was punching in her access code. "The guy's a welder."

Heaving an irritated sigh, she tossed over her shoulder, "He was giving a guest lecture for an applied physics class. You know, you're very narrow-minded, Booth."

"I'm narrow-minded," he sputtered. "What kind of man uses a woman for sex? Maybe that's too _open_-minded. Huh? You ever think of that, Doctor Desire?"

She walked quickly across the foyer, heels clicking on slate, her hips swaying like a red flag taunting the bull, until she abruptly halted at the elevator. Pushing the button, his buttons, she turned and struck him with a teasing glint of mischief. "Maybe I've been using him."

He wasn't going to ask. He wasn't... But of course he couldn't help himself. "For what?"

Oh, so matter of fact. "To help me with my frequently frustrated sex drive."

What the hell, he was hearing her but he could not understand it. Why would her sex drive be that frustrated? "There are over 5 million people in the Washington Metropolitan area, half of them male. You're telling me not _one_ of them is good enough for you to date?"

The door chimed open, Brennan walked in and punched 5 for her floor. "I wasn't looking for a relationship, Booth. And neither was Mark. He's away for months at a time, and at the time we met my job kept me out of the country just as long. We have an arrangement that has worked well for several years."

"But there's no love."

"Love is superfluous. The sex is quite satisfactory."

Shaking his head, he pursed his lips and studied her. "So, does Mark know about Jason?"

"No. Why would he?"

"Because he's having sex with you, Bones. He has a claim on you."

She scowled. "That's an archaic notion. Sexual intercourse does not convey any sense of ownership or obligation."

"Oh, really? Then why doesn't Mark know you're seeing Jason for 'intellectual stimulation,' hmm?"

"That's not the arrangement Mark and I have."

"Hmm. And did he know about me?"

That made her glance away. He saw it and nodded with a sense of satisfaction. "Ah, I see."

The elevator opened and she shot him a dirty look before heading for her front door. "What do you think you see, Booth."

"You'll let him have your body, but not your mind. And Jason, lucky guy, gets your mind but not your body. What part do I get?" He expected her to say 'nothing.' He braced himself for it, for a diatribe against his presumption that anyone could possess any part of another human being. Or for some anthropological lecture on the gazebo culture of lower I-don't-give-a-damnistan or some other obscure people from a place with a name he couldn't spell.

The door opened. She turned slowly, giving him just a glimpse of something in her unguarded gaze. It was the last thing he'd expected to see: her heart in her eyes.

Booth felt his own heart rush forward, his pulse leaping as he saw he might have captured her most valuable part. Pushing her into her apartment, he shut the door and locked it before facing her. "Did you tell him you're in love with someone else?"

A little breathlessly, she repeated, "My feelings aren't part of the arrangement."

"What if he's in love with you," Booth countered. "Don't you think it's a bit cruel to string him along?"

"He's not in love with me."

Stalking toward her, Booth smirked when she backed up a step. "How do you know?"

"He never said anything," she asserted, as if that were the most definitive proof.

"Maybe he's been afraid to," Booth argued quietly, his eyes holding hers. "Maybe you set conditions that have to be met, so he does what you demand just to keep the door open. Maybe he's been hoping you'll finally give him a sign that you want him, _all_ of him, the way he wants all of you."

Tossing her jacket and purse on a table, she stepped quite close and tipped her head to the side. "If that's the truth, then he should have said something. We've been together for years. Why doesn't he tell me?"

"You're not very receptive, when it comes to love."

Her eyes narrowed. "He made the conditions of our relationship quite clear when we met and emphasized those conditions twice more over the years. If he's since changed his mind, the onus is upon him to communicate it to me. I'm only abiding by the established parameters of our arrangement, and exclusivity was not one of the parameters."

"Dating two men at once suggests you don't value love. You don't take it seriously, so he's holding back."

"I don't take it seriously." She glanced away, nodded to herself and stepped back. "Right."

Moving away, she went into her kitchen and took out two cups, a packet of coffee. She poured water into the coffee carafe and kept quiet while she worked. Her simmering displeasure was not hard to detect, but he wasn't sure what had angered her. Sinking onto her sofa, he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over the back. The fact that she hadn't kicked him out, that she was making coffee, told him they were going to pick up as soon as the beverages were ready.

While he was waiting he glanced around this room they'd spent so many hours in together. Over there, her large industrial dining table had provided ample space for paperwork and forensic journals, take-out Thai boxes and occasional curries when Brennan demanded them. She'd gone vegetarian since he first met her, moving from hunting her own steaks to shunning even dairy products recently. So much had changed between them in four years.

Moving his eyes to the window, Booth eyed the photograph of Brennan with Angela, and another of Brennan with him and Parker at one of Parker's school events. It was a mathematics decathlon, which his partner had enthusiastically supported. "Math is a fundamental skill as well as the gateway to science and art, Booth." What he was starting to think, was that their lives had already intertwined. She was angry and, two or three years ago, she'd have ejected him with a foot planted in his posterior. Tonight, she was making him coffee.

Sure enough, a few minutes later the scent of freshly brewed French Roast drifted to him ahead of her and she passed him a steaming mug prepared to his preferred specifications before taking a seat across from him. "Do you take love seriously, Booth?"

Confused, he met her eyes over the rim of his coffee mug. "We're not talking about me."

"Aren't we?" As casually as she asked, he heard a dangerous klaxon start up in the misty distance between what she said so softly and the hard, sharp blow-torch blue of her eyes that had begun burning a hole in him.

There was danger ahead, but he kept on anyway, unafraid of her despite how easily she'd already demonstrated her ability to trip him. "You're having sex with one guy and carrying on a platonic relationship with another, and they don't know about each other."

She nodded, sipped at her coffee. "So, if I told Mark about Jason, then it would be okay? Then I'd be taking love seriously, because the man I'm having sex with knows I have a friend of the opposite sex?"

Instincts on alert, he regarded her warily as he sensed she was setting another trap. "Maybe…"

"Maybe? Then yes, Booth, I think we are talking about you."

"How?" Oh shit. Suddenly he saw the trap but too late to avoid it.

"Well, you were having sex with Cam and going to dinner with me. According to your criteria on demonstrating a seriousness about love, Cam must have known about your platonic relationship with me. I know the opposite doesn't apply, however, because I clearly was not informed of your sexual relationship with Cam. Who was my boss, by the way."

"Bones, of course Cam knew we were partners…" Shit.

"Oh. So you _did_ tell Cam about all those nights when you and I went out to dinner together after work, or shared take-out at the lab? You see, I've been under the impression that she didn't know about our dinners, just as I didn't know you were having sex with her."

She could tell from the guilty flush brushing his cheeks that she was right and he'd never said anything to Cam, either. Continuing blithely, she concluded, "It was an honest error. I can see now that I should have told Mark about my platonic excursions with Jason."

And she shrugged, sipped her coffee again. Waited.

"I'm sorry," he finally managed.

"For what?"

"For not telling you."

Raising a brow, she sipped again and then set her cup down with a thunk. "I'm not bothered by that. I know you like to keep your sex life private."

"Then why are you angry?"

"Given the similarities of our respective compartmentalized relationships, it is disingenuous for you to criticize my behavior and to suggest that I don't take love seriously. If I don't, then neither do you."

Setting his own cup aside, he got up and walked over to her. She remained sitting, head tilted back and body relaxed. Abruptly, he reached for her hand and pulled her up to stand in front of him.

"You acknowledge an omission is as good as a lie."

"It is deceptive," she agreed.

"You always prided yourself on honesty," he remarked. "It seems dishonest to keep those men in the dark."

Brennan frowned and crossed her arms. "I was very straightforward with both of them in regards to my expectations. They agreed to the conditions."

"Of course they agreed, Bones." He shook his head in sudden sympathy. "They're probably hoping to be there when you finally change your mind."

"I can't help it if they harbor unreasonable hopes," she protested.

Exasperated, he countered, "If you never told them they were competing with other men, then their hopes were not unreasonable."

"It's unreasonable under the parameters we set."

"If Jason isn't gay and you made it clear to him that you're not interested in a romantic relationship, why do you think he keeps going out with you? Hm?" Before she could answer that, he'd already moved on to the next question. "And given there are probably a million women available in the DC metro area, why does Mark keep coming back to you?"

"Because our relationship is easy and uncomplicated."

"Or because you're giving them hope. For example..." Booth suddenly reached out to touch her shoulder, tracing a finger from there to the edge of her collar, stroking a tingling curve along her skin and finally moving up the pillar of her throat. He felt her tiny shivers lifting the fine vellus hairs in response to his touch, her eyes held prisoner by his while his finger lazily made its way over her jaw, grazing the lower edge of her lip, rising at last to brush against her cheek, and then to swipe just below her eyebrow. It was only after he'd pulled his fingers away again that she recognized the pattern: all the places where she'd applied cosmetics.

Lifting his fingertip, he studied it a moment before turning it towards Brennan and letting her see the shimmering smear of silvery grey. "More eye makeup than you typically wear. Seems odd to dress up so much for a night out with a man you claim you're not attracted to."

"I'm not," she insisted.

"Then why do you look like this," he demanded. "You don't dress up like this for me."

"I—" Once again, he'd thrown her. She paused to ponder that question with a mystified little squint. "Are you jealous?"

Hell yes, Booth acknowledged inwardly, knowing he wanted to be the only one to see how she stretched the limits of beautiful into blinding. He wanted that pride of knowing other men looked after her longingly while she didn't notice anyone but him. He wanted to be more than her friend, so in reply he asked, "Are we platonic, you and me? Because when we're together you wear jeans and boots and a casual shirt. You don't dress sexy like this."

"I can be myself around you," she explained quietly.

Herself, nothing but Bones in her literal, beautiful, generous and aggravating glory. It made him smile, knowing that he got the authentic version when she was with him, all the parts he wanted. "_You_ are what I want. Just you."

Almost hesitantly, she added, "I don't dress up with you because we don't go to the opera or art galleries. That's where Jason likes to go."

"I'll take you to the damn opera, Bones, if that's what you want. I'll do anything you want." Because he wanted her, all of her.

"Anything?" She didn't even like the opera. She preferred Jazz and ethnic rhythms and even some of Booth's classic rock if truth be told.

Another trap? He pulled her closer, thrilling to the sense of completion as their bodies gently collided and her arms, (oh this can't be happening), her arms lifted to circle his neck. "Anything," he vowed.

She pressed herself against him, taking possession, taking control. "Will you hurry up and kiss me?"

"I thought you'd never ask." Laughing, he did as commanded. He kissed her, letting their lips drift lazily together and their breathes mingle and his hands drift up her curving back until his fingers could trail through the silky strands of her unbound hair. He loved her mind, he held her heart, and now he stood poised to take her body.

Pulling back a moment to study her, he realized there was one more thing he needed to make clear. "I won't share you. Mark and Jason both have to go."

A triumphant smile accompanied her instant acquiescence. "I won't need pieces when I finally have the whole."

Pieces of a relationship, that's what those men were. She was satisfying herself with broken pieces until she got what she wanted, the whole thing with _him_. Only him. It was probably as close to a declaration of love as he was ever likely to get from her and yet he was fully satisfied by what it meant that she wanted all those pieces of him, united. Friendship, companionship, sex, love. Sliding a palm along her jaw, lifting her face towards his, he smiled. "Then you can have the whole."

Her eyes had darkened to a smoky grey. She reached out and started tugging the knot of his necktie loose.

Surprised, he protested, "What are you doing?"

"Taking what's mine." The tie slipped off and landed a few feet away. She went to work on the buttons next.

"Hey, whoa! Slow down. I thought I was supposed to prove something." He grabbed her hands, stilling them.

With a smirk, she taunted, "You're not strengthening your case at the moment."

Jerking her against him, he shoved her wrists down and behind her back. "I'm the one whose supposed to be aggressive." And he bent to suckle the skin under her jaw.

"Another archaic notion," she hissed, tilting her head to give him better access.

He laughed low against her throat. "You know I'm a traditionalist."

"And I'm a feminist," she huffed. Twisting herself, she turned and dropped, loosening his hold on her just enough to break free and regain the use of her hands. They immediately splayed over his pectorals, nails sliding over his skin until they skittered across his nipples and he inhaled sharply. "Traditionalists lack imagination."

"Hey, I've got imagination!" If she only knew how many different ways he'd imagined taking her, marking her, making her his.

But before he could elaborate Brennan pushed him over until he was sprawled on her sofa, taking liberties as well as the reins. Apparently she had her own imaginative fantasies to fulfill.

His shirt flew open, her palms spreading rapidly over the smooth skin she'd uncovered, her finger pads stroking feathery touches over sensitive areas and the scars on his body that marked him as a warrior. A curving line low on his abdomen, right above his right hip (from a youthful accident involving his brother, Jared). A small, gathered circle on his upper right chest, piercing the pectoral and exiting out the back just below his scapula. There would be a round, puckered burn remaining on his left thigh where a red-hot screwdriver had been shoved deeply into his vastus medialis muscle.

There were other, smaller scars she didn't know the story behind, but she would learn about them, too.

Until then, her lips followed her hands, brushing his clavicles, his pectorals and over the scar he'd earned for her, down the length of his rectus abdominus 'six pack' and back up to his nipples. There is an abundance of nerve endings responsive to touch in the lips, nipples, fingers. She lingered over the sensitive nubbins, curling her tongue over one, circling the areola and flicking her fingernails over the other until his hips lifted involuntarily and a moan broke out of him.

"God, you're driving me crazy."

"Good," she retorted and went back to work. He'd been driving her crazy for years, it was about time to get a little revenge.

"Not good," he gasped, tugging her skirt upwards so he could fondle her thigh. "You're wearing too much, baby."

"Now I can tell you're under my spell," she chuckled. Her left hand crept down past his umbilicus to release his belt and the button on his trousers. "You should know I don't intend to let you start calling me baby."

"You'll get used to it," he hissed. She'd finally stopped protesting 'Bones' after a few weeks. "Baby."

"That's not my name."

God, the things her tongue could do. As her tongue tormented him and her searching fingers dipped deeper below the waist band of his boxers, he muttered, "I don't even know my own name at this point."

She snaked past him, knowing anticipation was half the thrill, heard him groan when her fingers reached his inner thigh, only inches above that scar. Then she skated her nails back over his skin, avoiding the part he wanted her to touch while her teasing tongue delved into his belly button. His pelvis rocked and bucked under her hands.

"These pants have to go, Booth."

He couldn't come up with a single argument against that excellent idea.

After Brennan removed his dress pants, however, Booth pulled himself together long enough to divest her of most of her clothing as well. Before he could take over she had him flattened again with a single push. "Me first..."

She wanted to satisfy her curiosity about him and in the process of pleasing herself she knew she could make him feel very pleased indeed.

Bending back to her worship of his body, Brennan blew her hot breath over him while her fingertips danced along his inguinal folds and brushed 'accidentally' against his soft sac. He moaned and twitched. She grinned, very impressed with the superb specimen he presented and the way she was making it react. Taking her time, her fingers edged closer and closer, creeping down below his tightening testes until she reached her destination. One hand grasped him at the base when she took him into her mouth, and at the same time the fingers of her other hand massaged deeply into his perineum, activating the pudendal nerve and causing his back to arch like he'd been struck by lightning.

A stream of gasping curses and prayers issued out of him while she continued the loving assault on his nervous system. The tight, hot sensations combined with pressure and tension in his entire pelvis made him almost cry. Made his back arch and his toes curl and his legs jerk in spasms as the ecstasy built and she kept going, tongue swirling, hand pumping, fingers massaging him in an erogenous zone he didn't even know he had.

"Oh God, where did you ... learn to do that?" he groaned.

Pausing a moment, Brennan released him just enough to inquire curiously. "Do you really want to know?"

His eyes squeezed shut. "No. Oh, hell!" He hissed because she'd swiped her tongue over his sac and was trailing it so slowly up the length of him that he thought he might pass out from blood loss. It was _all_ down there. "Probably from some ... God! ... creepy guru in Timbuktu. Don't tell me."

Laughing, she gently nipped the edge of his glans. "Relax Booth, you worry too much."

She settled back to working him over, causing him to gasp out, "How the hell can I ... relax when you're making me ... feel like I'm fourteen again?"

This woman that he'd wanted for so long was doing things to him that were probably illegal in all fifty states and nothing he'd ever experienced could rival the way she was stretching him like a bungee cord, pulling every muscle of his body into quivering strands that were going to snap any second now. "Not like this," he moaned desperately, worried he wasn't going to last even a breath longer because, by all the unholy angels in hell, she was _breathing_ on him.

He felt the tension screaming, especially when Brennan's throaty laugh nearly did him in again, throbbing against him so deeply he felt it shoot up through his core. Striking as fast as a cobra, Booth tossed her off and had her pinned below him before she could catch her breath. "You're coming with me," he growled.

"We're not going anywhere," she panted, shockingly looking just as turned on as he felt.

He dropped a searing kiss on her, silencing her and finally winning a moment to let his rioting body start to settle into something less explosive. She moaned, meeting him eagerly and let his mouth wander over hers, down her throat, over the curve of her shoulder. His fingers traced her breasts, edged her hips, circled lower. Creamy white skin soft as flower petals and just as fragrant; gently rounded curves that thrilled him to explore. He buried his face in her belly, breathing her in while one hand fondled her breast and the other ventured further south. Sliding still lower, slipping through her folds and feeling her gasp and jerk in response, he lifted his head to gaze at her in astonishment.

"How are you this wet already?"

Brennan's eyes had turned dark pewter, her lips soft and parted. She was flushed, her chest and face turning a becoming shade of rose pink, and she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "It's an erotic experience bringing you pleasure, tasting you, hearing the sounds you make."

"Tell me about it," he muttered, annoyed that she would have to _tell_ him because she wouldn't let him finish his turn with her. Before he could return to the feast, before he got a chance to taste her and feel her come undone under his hands and mouth (the way she'd nearly turned him into jelly), Brennan had shifted and pushed her hips upwards, somehow snaring him and driving him towards her.

"Bones," he gasped, startled at the rush. "I don't have any protection ready."

"You don't need it," she promised, and continued to work him into the position she wanted. "I have an IUD."

"But..." And he was losing ground, falling harder into her.

"I want to feel you."

He froze solid at that. "What?"

She was still too, just for a moment, looking at him with that intensity she usually used when on the cusp of discovery. "You, in me. I've never been bare with a man before but you ... are different. I ... I trust you."

"Bones." Unspeakably affected by what she was saying, what it meant, he realized she did love him. She was saying it the only way she knew how, by demonstration. By trust and giving him a nearly mind-blowing blow job. By trying to connect herself fully with him in a way no other man had ever been offered.

"Shit," he hissed, because the next moment she was pulling again and it was almost too fast and too much to even think of her trusting him that much. "Wait!"

"I'm tired of waiting," she complained and worked him to the edge of her event horizon, trying to make him understand how desperately she wanted this, how long she'd waited for this.

"Baby, slow down," he pleaded, almost afraid of how quickly it could end if she got her way and he felt _her_, welcoming him into the hottest depths. He'd wanted her for years, had imagined diving into her a thousand different ways, and none of the fantasies had prepared him for the intensity of her. The way she could make him burn was nothing short of diabolical.

"No more waiting. Now," she demanded. Her imperious command was followed by legs and hands tangling around him, her pelvis driving forward to capture the rest of what she wanted. _Him._ All of him.

He laughed and tried to hold back, tried to take back some of the control that she refused to relinquish. "I knew it!" he chuckled, then gasped when she succeeded in forcing him deeper and her silky inferno enveloped him and all he could do then was moan at the exquisite sensation.

"Knew what?"

What the hell was she doing? Booth saw stars, felt her close around him in a hot, silky grip that rippled and nearly made him come right then. "Fuck!"

"I'm trying to," she grumbled.

A few half-functioning brain cells reminded him this was exactly what he had suspected about her in the bedroom. Bossy. Demanding. Blisteringly passionate and spontaneous. So he laughed again to have his expectations confirmed and grabbed her hands, pulling her arms up over her head and diving into her so deep that she was the one who moaned, arched her back and threw her head backwards to receive him. "I knew you'd be bossy," he answered her and kissed her by her ear, breathed his love into her. God, he loved her.

"Booth," she moaned when he dove into her a second time and then he felt her gripping him again, an inner caress that was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. It was going to squeeze the last drops of restraint right out of him if she kept it going. And she did, keep it going, keep gripping him and rising up to him, her passion matching his.

"What are you doing," he managed to gasp and pulled out of her a little to evade her grip, to keep this going longer because he did not want to come in less than 60 seconds like some sex-starved teenager, even if that was exactly what he felt like when finally making love to Temperance Brennan.

"Tightening the muscles of my pelvic floor," she explained, far too clinically. Clarity of purpose remained in her smokey eyes, which was quite simply intolerable. And yet he could see that she was confused about being stopped, that she couldn't understand why he didn't appreciate her expert technique when she was trying so hard to please him.

It reassured him that his pleasure mattered so much to her. It also pissed him off. No way was she going to stay that coherent, no way was he going to let her miss out on making love because she was too busy trying to squintify it for his sake.

So he tightened his grip on her wrists, speared deeply into her until their bones crashed together and dropped his mouth to hers, kissing her sensually while he held himself completely still and so deeply buried that she moaned and bucked in agony at the lack of movement. "Stop worrying about pleasing me," he rumbled against her mouth. "Stop thinking and _feel_ me."

That's what she said she wanted, to feel him stroking in her.

He did it again, lifting his body enough to drive even deeper. "Feel this." And another thrust that she rose up to meet. "Let go and feel _us_. Come on, baby," he thrust again and felt her control loosen. "That's my girl, let go for me. That's what I want, I want you to come with me."

Together they picked up speed, his words flowing with the tides of their bodies and the waves of pleasure that roared through them. "Let me make love to you, let me love you. I love you." Her hips lifted, her back arched, their bodies drove together in a spiraling arc of pleasure, flooded with heat and pulses of joy and he never wanted it to end, especially when he felt her tightening and heard her sobbing breaths and knew she'd finally let go, knew she was making love.

"I love you," he moaned as his body coiled and tightened. "I love you," he groaned when she flew apart beneath him, her head arched back and eyes closed and ecstasy written across her features and he felt her squeezing him involuntarily. That's when _he_ finally let go and followed her into the churning waves.

~Q~

"So," he murmured in her ear a little while later. "Was that proof enough for you?"

"Experiments must be repeated many times before the results can be considered reliable, Booth."

Who knew science could be such fun...?

~Q~

* * *

Author's Note: These stories write themselves, sometimes. Booth meant to set Brennan straight, but darn if that logical scientist didn't go and remind Booth she's not doing anything we haven't seen before. Maybe they're both in the wrong and it's time to stop omitting key facts. ;)

Now it may be time to spread the love around a little. Who's going to be Catch #7? I've got two catches in mind and you get to vote! Will it be Cam, or Sweets?


	6. Chemical Delusion

Author's Note: Thank you to those who are reading, marking as favorites, and especially for the gift of reviews.

The Premise: I must confess... this is actually one of my favorite episodes. It's goofy, Booth and Brennan have one of their most delicious arguments ever, Brennan tries to be a good friend, and at the end the woman who insists love is just a chemical process says she wants to believe in it. There's a contradiction, folks. ;)

The current chapter is T for sexuality and alcohol.

Episode tag to The Cinderella in the Cardboard

* * *

_The Catch in the Contradiction_

**Sixth Catch: Chemical Delusion  
**

~Q~

The knock sounded unexpectedly just as he was stretching and looking around for his car keys.

"Yeah?" he asked through the door.

"Booth? It's Bones."

Unusual that, he mused. She generally just said 'it's me.' Surprised by both his visitor and the relatively late hour, he opened to find his partner standing there looking … unsure.

"Hi," he welcomed, stepping back to let her in.

"I should have called," she hedged, looking like she was about to change her mind.

"No," he quickly contradicted. "Are you kidding me?"

Lingering in the door while she debated the wisdom of her visit ate up a full fifteen seconds. Finally Brennan decided to complete the mission that had brought her there, entering at last with an explanation that did nothing to explain why she had arrived with such hesitancy. "I saw Sweets and Daisy, and I was wrong. She wasn't cheating on him."

"Well, that's a good thing. Right?" Booth followed her dejected path through the hallway to his living area, curious that she didn't seem very happy about Sweets and Daisy being fine.

"Well, I wanted to spare him pain, but all I did was cause it." She dropped onto the sofa wearing a forlorn expression of contrition.

"You meant well," Booth offered kindly, all the more because he could have told her so. He _had_ told her, in fact. Messengers tend to be shot when the news is bad; or worse, when it's inaccurate. Telling Lance Sweets that his girlfriend was actually engaged to another man proved a bad idea twice over, since the bad news also ended up being wrong. Honesty may be the best policy but as he'd tried to warn Brennan, that rule never held true in love or war.

She shook her head. "I made him so jealous I almost ruined their relationship. I should have listened to you."

"Maybe next time you will." Highly unlikely but one could always hope.

She sighed.

"Hey, I was just going to go out and grab a bite to eat. Some Chinese…. Maybe some—"

"I'd rather drink," she declared abruptly. "Do you want one?" Without waiting for a reply, she bolted up and stalked over to his mini-bar.

Booth watched her, his mouth ajar. "Yeah, we could do that. My good … bottle of Scotch."

She'd taken the bottle and poured a shot for him. Then she dumped a hearty swig down her own throat straight from the bottle.

Booth gaped in astonishment, then raised his wee shot towards her. "Bottom's up, Bones."

She fell back onto the sofa, her agitation so far outside the norm that Booth was starting to get worried. What the hell was going on with her?

"Intellectually, I know that jealousy is absurd. But I see that it's real for people." Her eyes found his, her discomfort palpable. Then she dropped her gaze, along with her voice. "I even experience it myself."

That was an unusual disclosure that made him very curious. Wandering closer, Booth dropped into the seat next to her. "So, who are you jealous of?"

Brennan looked vaguely sheepish, admitting softly all the people she envied. "Angela. Hodgins. Cam. You."

"Why?" he asked softly, noting that Angela and Hodgins were paired, and him and Cam. Relationships…?

"Because you all want to lose yourself in another person. You believe that love is transcendent and eternal." She held the Scotch bottle in her lap, her eyes downcast, and a fleeting sadness rippled below her slightly unsteady pitch while she finished. "I want to believe that, too."

He sighed. Moving to sit right beside her, Booth slid his arm around her back and pulled her closer. "Hey, you will."

Off her skeptical glance, he asserted confidently, "I promise. Someday you will."

She shook her head and took another healthy swig from the bottle.

He winced at the loss of so much Glenfiddich, but couldn't help wondering what had brought this despondency over her. Clearly he was missing something. Going back over their brief conversation, he tried to put the fragments together. She'd said she was wrong to tell Sweets about her suspicions regarding Daisy's fidelity, then she said she was jealous of everyone. She wanted to believe in love.

"Bones, just a couple of days ago you leaned over my desk with fire in your eyes and assured me love is a chemical delusion."

Ever precise, she flicked her gaze up at him and corrected his error. "I said it is a chemical process that _causes_ delusion."

Wasn't that the same thing? It might be a dangerous question considering how closely they were sitting together and the way she was looking at him but he had to ask. "What kind of delusion?"

"Euphoria. Strong sexual attraction coupled with disconnection from reality and realistic consequences. A belief that the other person is absolutely perfect." She retreated to stare straight into the narrow circle of the Scotch bottle, her fingertip delicately tracing the rim while she described in detail the undeniable insanity of being in love. "Wanting to be with them all the time. The effects are quite pronounced when the person is near."

Uncomfortably aware of the effect she was having on him right that moment, Booth shifted slightly but only ended up bringing her closer when her balance tipped and she sort of leaned into him with her head resting despondently against his shoulder.

"That's just infatuation," he replied gruffly. "You're right that it's not realistic, but it also isn't love. Okay? Love is different. It's real."

"Of course it's real." Once again she was looking up at him as if he'd just denied the existence of air, or the semi-drained bottle in her hand. As so often seemed to happen with her, Booth got the distinct impression they were speaking different languages. "I never said it wasn't."

"You said it's chemicals in the brain."

Brennan sighed and muttered something about the lack of a proper education. "All emotions are rooted in chemical messengers that travel through the limbic system. Love, fear, anger, joy: all are caused by dopamine, adrenaline, testosterone, and a few more that I won't bother to mention because you've never heard of them anyway."

He rolled his eyes.

She kept up the lecture. "The feelings of fear are caused by a rush of epinephrine. Does that mean fear doesn't exist? That people who are facing danger don't actually experience fear?"

"I know fear exists," he countered. God knew he'd felt it often enough, especially where she was concerned.

"Then you also know it doesn't last. The chemicals dissipate and so does the feeling."

No, she was just all wrong about this. Pulling her even closer, he experienced the warmth and calming that her presence always seemed to bring about. Being near her always made him feel whole (even when she was gleefully poking holes in his ego) but calling it love was something he hadn't dared to do, not even in his own head. Then again, he wasn't sure any other word would be adequate. "Love doesn't fade away, Bones. When you really care about someone, you don't ever stop caring. You can't stop because they become part of you. That's not chemical."

Brennan raised her eyes to his, meeting his gaze steadily. He felt the pull between them, whatever it was, strong and undeniable. And then she started to speak, explaining it with that low, rasping voice that made every part of his body stand at attention. "A recent study showed that it only takes thirty minutes to fall in love. One intimate conversation between two people who share confidences, followed by direct eye contact and touching."

Like this? Like he'd experienced nearly every single day with her over the past four years? His heart thundered as he became acutely aware of her voice, her scent, her touch, and the unswerving impact of her gaze. Did she have any inkling of the effect she had?

"The touch and eye contact releases oxytocin, the bonding hormone. It causes an emotional attachment to form."

Booth glanced away, suddenly overwhelmed with the unfiltered dose of her close proximity when they were so dangerously alone. "You think it doesn't last," he rumbled low, thoroughly disturbed now by the intensity of his beautiful partner looking at him like that.

Brennan pulled another greedy gulp from the Scotch, gasping at the strength of the burning liquor. "I want it to, Booth. I want to believe it can last."

She was drinking in an unthinking way he'd never seen, nearly distraught. Worried now, he asked, "Bones, what's really going on?"

She shrugged loosely. He waited for her to answer, running his hand absently up and down her arm while going over the entire conversation one more time. She might be right that touch could trigger deeper desires because what he desired at the moment was to get closer, to wrap himself around her so he could better understand what was happening and why she had come to sit here beside him while guzzling his best scotch.

"You told me to follow my heart," she finally offered, as if sensing his confusion.

Surprised, Booth drew back a bit to look at her. "When?"

"At my dad's trial, but you've said it other times, too. That I should go with my heart." Tears glinted in her eyes and she blinked them back. "I tried to and it was wrong. I hurt him and I almost ruined them."

"You tried to follow your heart?"

"About Sweets. He's my friend, I was trying to be kind. I thought honesty is best, but I was wrong. My instincts are all wrong, Booth!"

He let out a long, slow sigh of understanding. "You thought you were doing the right thing, but it turned out to be the wrong thing."

"Yeah," she agreed softly.

Pulling her closer once more, he sighed and tipped his head against hers. Her warmth and scent wrapped around him again as she settled in closer and he thought again of what she'd just said regarding the route to falling in love. Intimacy, confidences, touch, and eye contact. Booth was starting to recognize the risk in staying this close to her and knew he would have to put distance between them very soon but why she was hurting made his own heart ache.

"He knows that you had good intentions. It's going to be okay."

It was getting dangerous but for now they held together for several long moments, long enough for her to shudder a little sob and steal another fortifying drag of Scotch.

"My heart is always wrong. That's why I have to rely on logic."

"Oh Bones, that's not true," he scoffed tenderly.

Bitterness leached into her softly spoken contradiction. "Yes it is."

"Look, someday you're gonna fall in love."

"That's not the problem," she mumbled.

She lifted her eyes to him at last, and what he saw in them made his own heart stumble and then trip into a gallop. The several healthy swigs of Scotch she'd consumed had found time to work on her already, leaving her momentarily unguarded. He saw her heart in her eyes: all the anguish, the doubts that plagued her, the confusion; and he saw love. She was already in love, but she didn't trust her heart.

Stunned, he breathed her name in disbelief. "Bones?"

Sensing the change in tone, seeing the dawn of comprehension in his eyes, Brennan drew back in a near panic. The Scotch bottle clattered loudly against the coffee table as she leaped up from the sofa. "I'm sorry to have bothered you. I'll go."

She was halfway to the door by the time he caught up to her intention. Booth leaped after her, chasing her to the door with a shout. "No!"

Before she got the door open he was there, pressing it closed and pushing her back. "I'm not letting you leave like this."

Her back hit the wall, her defenses up. "Like what?"

Half drunk and heartbroken, for one thing. Without clarity, for another. "Why did you come here tonight?"

Brennan deflected the question immediately. "I told you."

"That could have waited until tomorrow," he pointed out gently. "Why tonight? Why me?"

"I…." Seeming at a loss for words, she looked past him at the lonely Scotch bottle and wished she'd imbibed more liquid courage. Or less liquid foolishness. She could feel the Scotch working in her, making her feel blended and slow. "I always talk to you," she sighed.

Every day they shared intimacy and eye contact ... and a miracle that he'd somehow been too blind to see. "You're in love with me."

A sudden, swift intake of air betrayed her even as she began shaking her head in denial. She had always reminded him of a wild mare: beautiful, graceful, sleek and powerful, but skittish and easily spooked. Strong and occasionally deadly if not handled properly. Wild horses aren't tamed through violence or force—it takes patience and gentleness, and nerves of steel. He'd waited four years for this.

Moving in cautiously, he pressed her backwards until she had nowhere to go. She wouldn't look at him so he slid a knuckle under her chin and lifted her up, forcing their eyes to connect. "That's why you want to believe in love," he rumbled quietly.

"Booth…." Her liquid eyes overflowed as she looked away and tried to pretend it was a speck of dust that caused the tears.

He snared her hand as she lifted it to dash the offending liquid away. "Don't."

Bewildered by the command, she went still and waited.

"Let me," he whispered. Before she could ask—and he knew she was going to by the breath she drew in—he leaned in and placed his lips on her cheek. Darting out his tongue to taste the salty droplet, he felt her body stiffen in shock at the intimate contact. "What are you doing?"

"Tasting you," he replied against her skin.

Astonished, Brennan started to push him back. "What about the line?"

But he simply captured that wrist also and held both of her hands loosely now as he brushed his lips against her cheek again, putting action to the words. "I'm erasing it."

Moving along, he circled her eye, swept tender touches over the arch of her brow and up to her temple before doubling back to kiss his way across her cheek and down the slope of her nose. Every sweep of soft lips on softer skin erased the line between them. By the time he tasted the tip of her nose, he felt her breathing had increased its tempo. The exploration dropped lower, his lips finding the corner of her mouth and nudging along the bottom edge of her soft lower lip so teasingly that she gasped again.

He smiled, his questing mouth having already moved lower to the rim of her jaw and sliding backwards toward her ear. "I've always wanted to taste you," he breathed into her right before he began nibbling on the sweet little lobe. The tang of metal from her earring salted his tongue just before he nipped her between his incisors.

A soft, almost keening moan sounded from her, telling him how deeply he was affecting her. Booth lifted his head and gazed at his partner, knowing the only reason she was so pliant at the moment was because she was fighting herself. Her eyes were closed, her brow furrowed into an expression that revealed uncertainty and conflict. She was torn over how to respond, he suspected. As soon as she figured it out, however, she would begin fighting him.

Either for dominance, or for escape.

He wasn't sure which way she'd go but for now, he pressed his advantage by leaning in and settling his mouth on hers at last. Sweetly soft and warm, with just a hint of silk and the musk of Glenfiddich. She exhaled a sigh into him when they joined. Their lips slid against each other with agonizing thoroughness, parting only to return and brush and cling several times over. Booth lifted a hand to stroke the skin of her throat, and felt the trip-hammer of her pulse against his fingertips. Her heart was racing and so was his as her lips parted and their kisses turned molten.

His tongue teased along her lower lip until her whimpered acquiescence granted him entrance into her mouth. The sweet burning bite of Scotch nearly buckled his knees. He curled deeply into her, tasting and teasing and with that foray, she made up her mind.

Brennan's body surged forward, her natural aggression leaping into battle with his at last. Their coupling turned vicious, hips colliding, hands clutching, mouths dueling. She stabbed her tongue past his opened lips, stroking against teeth and suckling his lower lip between hers. He groaned at the way she slammed her body into his, arching into him, her breasts flat against his chest and one graceful leg hooking around his. They teetered and tumbled against walls until he maneuvered them back to the sofa and briefly wondered in between bone-curling kisses if she'd let him be on top.

The answer was a resounding no way, not a chance in hell. Brennan spun and pushed him until the edge of the sofa buckled his knees and he collapsed into a seated position. She was over him a moment later, moving fast to claim the skin she had begun uncovering. Wild and uninhibited, that's how she liked it. He was discovering that he liked it that way, too—especially when her fingertips started scraping over his sensitized skin like burning coals.

She was driving him insane, twisting over him, her hands possessing him with a skill he probably should have anticipated. Good God, she knew where his nerve endings ran and put that anatomical information to searingly erotic use: her lips and tongue and fingers had turned into instruments of sensual torment that almost robbed him of coherent thought.

He needed _more_. More of her, more mouth, more heat, more skin. With desperation, he jerked her shirt loose from her slacks and slid his palms over the heated slopes of her spine then around the curves until he found her soft breasts. She moaned and pushed herself forward into his hands. Her entire weight rested against him, pressing dizzyingly into his groin. Pulling her even more deeply against him, Booth feared he might explode when she began rubbing against him with desperate little moans. He hadn't come in his pants since he was a horny teen, but this woman had reduced him to quaking need in mere minutes.

When he couldn't stand the ecstasy any longer, Booth pushed her to the side, taking over again, looming over her. She was stunning in her wild, fully aroused state. Tousled hair fell in disarray, her eyes glowed like moonlight, her skin flushed, her lips pink and glistening from their kissing. His eyes bored into hers. "There's no going back from this."

The change was swift and severe and completely unexpected. He'd never been more disoriented in his life than now, when Brennan bucked him off and put distance between them. Her moonlight eyes flashed dangerously. "You should have let me leave."

"Why?" he asked blankly, standing and wondering what had happened and why she was gone. His body was thrumming, his mind too fogged with desire to keep up with the change in his fortune.

"You think I don't know how serious this is? You really doubt me that much?" She cursed and turned for the door again. "I tried to go before it was too late."

The door slammed behind her, leaving him in stunned inactivity. "Shit!"

Booth ran after her, racing down the stairs three at a time. He caught her just before she reached the door to the street, grabbed her and pulled her back. "I'm sorry."

"Go to hell," she hissed, twisting loose. "I tried to keep your line. **_You're_** the one who crossed it!"

"I know, Bones." He stepped in front of her and forced her backwards, away from the door. "Damn it, would you _stop_?!"

She was fighting him, just as he'd predicted she would: fighting for control at first, now fighting for escape.

"Let go," she warned.

If pressed, he knew she would land him flat on his back. Hoping not to risk it, Booth let go and left his hands raised in supplication. "Will you please listen to me?"

"No," she snapped.

"Look, you're right. I'm an ass."

Brennan paused, her body relaxing just a bit. "Are you saying you're a donkey, or a derrière?"

He laughed, wondering exactly what the distinctions were. "Probably both."

She was still angry, but Brennan turned and looked at him at least. Arms crossed, waiting and ready to be angry again, she was still so fiercely beautiful that he could barely keep his hands off of her or his mind on finding the right words to talk her back upstairs into his life, then into his bed. Or the other way around. Really, he didn't care as long as she stayed with him.

Every inch of him was ready to explode. She did this to him: made him crazy, frantic, soothed, worried, turned on, so damn tongue-tied he could barely speak. Most of all, she terrified him; the thought of going even one day without her terrified him.

"I'm scared, too," he finally admitted. "I just … you mean everything to me. It has to work out between us, okay? _It has to_."

They both wanted to believe it could last; they both needed the assurance that this was a gamble worth taking.

She bit her lip and avoided his eyes. "What makes you think it won't?"

Of course, he realized. She thought he didn't trust her. With hesitation and a bit of shame, he admitted that who he truly doubted was himself. "None of my romantic relationships have lasted very long, except for Rebecca; and when I proposed to her, she turned me down. You're right, maybe I should have let you leave before it was out in the open."

Because now it was out there: his feelings and hers. If this failed, he would lose her, which amounted to losing everything that mattered.

"It's too late for that now," she reminded him. "There's no going back from this." Exactly what he'd said to her not ten minutes ago, and he saw that she was right. He'd said it first, but she had been steps ahead of him the first time she went to the door. She had tried to avoid _this_, the awkward and fearful moment when they could no longer pretend they hadn't fallen in love with each other.

The impasse stretched taut between them, until he reached out a hand to hers and tugged gently. "You just took five or six shots of Scotch. Come back with me and I'll order us something to eat."

"Booth..."

Even half drunk, she was still thinking clearly. He could hear the warning, the worry that they would once again act on a chemically induced impulse if isolated together tonight. Pulling her along anyway, he proposed a sensible compromise. "I think it's safe to say neither one of us is deluded or unaware of the consequences. We'll decide tomorrow. Okay?"

Brennan nodded and let him lead her back to his apartment.

~Q~

* * *

Author's Note: For those of you who are hating me right now, one of the most intriguing short stories I've ever read ended something like this, with two possible outcomes and the readers get to decide for themselves what happened next. That author asked whether it would be "The Lady or the Tiger?"

I leave it to you to wonder, did they take the plunge or redraw the line?


End file.
